


Recovery

by jarethsdragon



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Child Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F!Reader - Freeform, F/M, Female Reader, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, McHanzo - Freeform, McHanzo x Reader, Multi, POV Female Character, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Physical Abuse, Rape Recovery, Threesome - F/M/M, descriptions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 12:08:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13926855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarethsdragon/pseuds/jarethsdragon
Summary: Hanzo Shimada is your Overwatch mentor and you can’t stand it.  He had done nothing, would never do anything to hurt you, but you had inner demons of your own that would not let you rest.  Inner demons that crushed you every time you failed, every time that you were less than your best.And when you are injured during a mission, those demons came spilling out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is dedicated to all of the brave men and women who report sexual abuse. This is dedicated to the people who try to help victims become survivors. This is dedicated to all of the professionals who work every day to put the scum that do that kind of thing behind bars. All of you were my inspiration.

“Yoi, gakusei-san,” Hanzo nodded. “Good, my student.”

You lowered your thin bow and smiled thinly at your shot—an arrow that just touched the yellow inner circle that would have been a bullseye. It was a fake smile—more for Hanzo than for anything else—when on the inside you were quaking. You were still failing to hit the bull’s eye. “Arigato gozaimashita, shisho-san,” you forced out, addressing him as a master teacher in his native Japanese.

“You have improved,” he nodded, holding his much larger bow lightly and his other hand resting lightly on his hip. He watched as your head dropped and you frowned. He knew your Japanese was not up to a full conversation, so he addressed you often in your native language. Without him saying anything, you considered it a matter of respect to use Japanese as much as you could. “Kyudo is a difficult art to master. You will get better.”

You nodded, still angry at yourself. Taking out another arrow, you set it on the string. Spreading your stance, you tried your hardest to emulate his effortless grace. Your kyudo-gi top was a white, long sleeved canvas shirt that went down to your wrists, unlike his more traditional yukata that left his left shoulder bare. Your dark hakama—the loose, black, pleated pants—were almost identical to his except for yours went down to almost cover your tabi shoes. You did wear, as a concession to modern uniform and conventions, a leather yugake gauntlet on your right hand and a muneate chest guard pad over your breasts. Pulling back the arrow, you took a deep breath to steady your nerves. Aiming slowly—achingly slowly compared to him—you looked towards the target.

“Take a deep breath,” Hanzo advised. “Look down the arrow and at the target.”

You did. You really did. The air brushed your hair lightly and you slightly adjusted your aim. Then, you released it. The arrow whizzed down the lane towards the target. It was only about twenty-five feet away. With a grassy thunk, the arrow plowed fully in the middle of the red ring. Disappointment obviously etched over your face, you lowered your bow.

“Seven points is not bad,” he said solemnly, aiming at his own target. It was easily 75 feet away. His arrow swished out and thunked into the straw backed target and plowed into the yellow center—just like the last six.

Your smile was even more thin and more forced as you picked up another long arrow. You were going to hit that bullseye this time. Really. And then he would smile that beautiful smile of his and tell you that he was proud of you and proud to be your teacher. That hadn’t happened yet, but picturing it was enough to make you keep trying—and dreaming.

“Yameru, gakusei-san,” he grunted. “We will need to stop now.”

“Hai, shisho-san,” you sighed heavily, lowering the bow again. You hadn’t gotten that bullseye even once. Not even close.

Hanzo slung his bow over his muscular shoulder and came to you. “Take off the yugake and show me your hands.”

You bit your lip to stop from whimpering. You really didn’t want to stop—partly because you wanted to keep practicing and partly because you did not want to endure his careful examination of your sore hands. “Do we have to stop, shisho-san?”

“We do.” He looked closely at you, taking note of your reactions. You bit your lip again nervously to hide your anxious shaking. “I have another...ah, appointment, and I want to be sure that your hands are not injured.”

You took off the gauntlet and showed him your hands. Your left hand was bright red and puffy looking from gripping the leather wrapped bow. Your right fingers were also red from gripping the back of the arrows. You bit the inside of your mouth so that he would not see you biting your lip again—biting hard enough that you did not flinch when he flexed your arms and shoulders.

He sighed, his brows beetling together as he stared at you. “I do not want you to overwork your shoulder. Kyudo is hard enough without giving yourself an injury.” He examined your hands, pressing his calloused fingers into your palms and against the pads of your fingers. “I do encourage you to practice, but not too much.”

“Hai, shisho-san.”

He looked at you. “I know that you are disappointed in yourself.” His fingers massaged your left palm as you twitched. “This will come.”

“You are hitting a target at three times my distance.” You shrugged. “There is—.”

“No,” he interrupted sharply with a shake of his head. “I have been practicing since I was eight and with this specific bow since I was fifteen. This is not easily mastered—do not be disappointed.”

“Hai, shisho-san,” you muttered sourly.

“As your master, I expect you to listen to me.” His face was stern and you nodded. With another disappointed sigh, you bowed very low. He looked at you for a moment and then bowed in return. As a master, he bowed to you less deeply. “Keep practicing and you will see the improvement you desire.”

“Hai, shisho-san.”

“Then I will see you tomorrow afternoon.”

“Hai, shisho-san.” You watched as he slung his bow over his shoulder, picked up his quiver, and walked back towards the buildings. With a heavy sigh, you plucked up your equipment and went down the lanes to collect the arrows. You had shot about twelve arrows to his seven and none of them had even hit close to the middle yellow ring. Ripping down the paper targets, you balled them up. Sliding your gear into your heavy canvas duffle, you began the disappointed trek back to base.

Sorting out Hanzo’s arrows from your own, you trudged down the hall towards his apartment. You had improved—at least your arrows were in the red rings instead of the wider blue, black or (heaven forbid) white rings—but it had been weeks and you seemed stuck there. No matter how much he coached you or how much he corrected you, your arrows seemed magnetically drawn away from the bullseye.

Brushing the last bit of straw from the tips, you hesitantly knocked on his door and waited. Great—now he was not even answering the door. Were you really that bad? Were you really wasting his time? You bit that little piece of the inside of your mouth again, trying not to break down in tears. The kyudo gi had no pockets for a convenient handkerchief and your hands were full of arrows anyway, so tears were not an option.

You were turning away when he opened his door halfway. His face was a bit flushed and moist and his hair was wetly clinging to his shoulders as he stood in only his hakama. You looked up for only a moment, deeply conscious that your tears were about to flow down your cheeks, and then bowed down to hide your face.

“I’m sorry, shisho-san,” you muttered hoarsely. “I did not mean to interrupt your...shower? I am returning your arrows.”

“Arigato,” he replied, taking them from your hand. He cocked his head slightly and cleared his throat nervously. “Is something wrong?”

“No, sir.” You bowed again and rearranged your gear in your hands anxiously. “Just that. Konbawa.”

Without waiting for him to reply, you turned and trudged back to your apartment. Thankfully, that was the last thing for today—archery practice before the dinner hour. Stripping out of the uniform, you tossed it in your compact washer/dryer/combo machine and set the leather pieces aside to dry. You rubbed your shoulder wearily, finally letting yourself flinch. You had been out last week on a mission and taken a shot. Your body armor absorbed the round, but the force bruised you bone deep and there was still a livid purple spot.

Taking a shower was a relief—someplace that you could shed your tears of disappointment without judgement. Dragging on a thick black T-shirt and a pair of sweats, you debated whether or not you really wanted to drag yourself to the cafeteria for dinner. It was meatloaf night—meatloaf with a choice of mashed potatoes or mac ’n’ cheese, side of some vegetable, salad for those who wanted it. Dessert was for other people and you did your best to ignore the pies or cakes or puddings or whatever was offered each day.

You looked down at yourself. Running your fingers over your soft stomach, you took a huge pinch of flesh and waggled it. “I need to lose this,” you muttered to yourself sourly. “So, shake-shake here I come.”

The shake-shake was a meal replacement mix you ordered online—a ghastly diet concoction of vitamins and minerals and proteins apparently mixed with white chalk dust and the shreds of a picture of vanilla beans. It was quick and easy—8 ounces of healthy stuff that you did not need to appear in public to get. You even called now and got the mixing cup with the big plastic spiky thing in the bottom so that you could just mix, cap and shake.

Sitting down on your standard-issue chair, you drank your chalky drink and rubbed a really stinky muscle balm on your aches and pains. Hanzo had recommended it to you the first time that you had mentioned your sore muscles and you had hurried out to get some. It worked great despite reeking like a three-day dead skunk. The archer was irritatingly perfect in that he never seemed to need the muscle ointment, never seemed to hurt, never seemed to have his hands ache because of swollen joints. He had to order you to use the ointment when you were openly whimpering during practice.

The next day, you showered in the morning and then again just before your archery practice to make sure that the tell-tale cinnamon-peppermint-pepper smell of the balm was off your skin. Sliding on the uniform, you went out to meet Hanzo on the archery range.

You got there about ten minutes early and still he was there before you. It always struck you—deep in your brain and heart—how absolutely gorgeous he was, standing with his bow and quiver and looking idly down the range. Even the tattoo glistened on his bare arm like a master’s painting. His expression was peaceful and content as he simply stared down range. For a moment, you stood on the path just staring at the perfect picture of kyudo.

Taking in an unsteady breath, you walked up the rest of the way and set your gear down in your lane. “Kon’nichiwa, shisho-san,” you greeted carefully, bowing low.

“Kon’nichiwa, gakusei-san,” he returned, bowing not so low. “Are you ready to begin?”

“Hai,” you nodded with the best smile you could force out. Your shoulder ached terribly and you did not dare stop to rub balm on it or to take out your pain relief medicine. The last time you had been injured on a mission, Hanzo had refused to meet you for over a week and your shots showed it. At least you were a better shot with your tricked out laser rifle with its sniper scope, because if you were depending on your archery, you knew you’d be dead.

“We will begin, then,” he nodded solemnly. “String your bow.”

You bit your lip and bent the bow so that you could slip the loop of the string over the notch at the top. Glancing down range, you saw that his target was moved further back. “Are you going for a record, shisho-san?”

“A record?” He looked at you blankly for a moment. “I do not understand.”

“That target must be at least fifty feet further back,” you grunted as you finally got your bow strung.

“Ahh,” he nodded. “I wanted a bit more of a challenge.”

Well, that just about crumpled you. You weren’t even that good—he needed more of a challenge. You sucked in a shaky breath and restlessly wiped your eyes. How much longer would he even put up with you then?

He cocked a sable brow, watching you. “If there is something wrong, then please do me the honor of telling me.”

“Nothing, shisho-san,” you answered quickly, fumbling with your first arrow. “Just something in my eye.”

“We can return to the rifle range and get you some eye protection if you need it,” he offered slowly.

“Thank—uhh...arigatogozaimashita, shisho-san,” you muttered, setting up your stance. “But I’m fine.”

He was silent for a long moment. “I would expect a truly dedicated student to respect their teacher enough to tell the truth.”

“Hai, shisho-san.”

Seeing your close-mouthed expression, he sighed heavily and began coaching you. His style of teaching was the sweetest blend of ancient words of wisdom, fascinating history and effortless discipline. Well, effortless discipline for him, anyway—you were still struggling to learn Japanese and the appropriate honorifics along with the art of archery. You concentrated on improving and tried really hard to ignore the fact that even with the target moved further back, all of his arrows were easily in the yellow ring. You wanted him to be proud of you so badly, you were shaking with it, which made your aim even worse.

After a half-dozen shots apiece, a drop ship drifted over the range. Hanzo’s face went brilliant with something you did not want to name and then he gestured towards you. “We will stop here for today.”

“Oh?” You did not hide the disappointment in your voice.

“Yes...,” he gathered up his equipment. “I will not be here tomorrow, but I will meet you here at our usual time the day after.”

“Hai, shisho-san,” you bowed low. At least your low bows were correct according to everything you read.

He bowed in return and then began loping down the path back towards the apartment buildings with unmistakeable eagerness. Sighing, you unstrung your bow and collected the paper targets and the arrows. Seeing your shots—the wilder ones that rimmed the blue ring instead of the yellow one—you were even more disappointed. Tears filled your eyes as you tore off the paper cover from the packed straw target backs, and you balled up both targets and gathered the arrows.

For once, you did not immediately go to the archer’s apartment to drop off his arrows. You stopped at your own first. Your shoulder simply ached too much and all you wanted was a shake-shake and some pain meds. Slugging down the chalky sludge with the pills that Mercy had given you last week, you waited about twenty minutes for them to take effect so that you could walk down the hall without whimpering.

In another dark t-shirt and another pair of sweats—all you seemed to live in these days when you weren’t in your battle gear or your dress uniform, you took a pinch out of your stomach again and waggled it. Mercy swore that you were within your appropriate weight range, but after looking at her (and, really, who didn’t?) and Tracer, you weren’t convinced that your body measured up. Still, if you stuck to the shake-shake and didn’t overdo it at lunch—a bad habit—then maybe you could get rid of this pudge in the middle. The kyudo was helping—you had to stand straight and in posture and you were lifting weights to help your arm and hand strength—but somehow you were sure you’d never have the sleek core of the doctor or her British friend.

Maybe it was time to sign up for some extra sparring with 76 or someone. Someone who could help you get stronger with extra workouts, someone who could show you some new moves. The thought of being pinned by the huge and muscular 76 gave you a violent shiver—maybe not.

Your one hand gripped the collection of arrows slickly—both your palms sweating. Raising the other, you were about to knock when you thought you heard...something. You paused, looking around carefully. None of the other doors were open, there were no other sounds. Telling yourself you imagined it, you raised your knuckles again to knock on the door.

There was the crash of pottery from inside and you reared back nervously. Knocking softly, you were surprised that the door had not been fully latched and swung open at the first brush of your knuckles.

The first thing you noticed was the brilliant red serape on the floor. Your eyes followed the zig-zag pattern up to see the long hair of the archer spread out on it like flowing rivers of ink. One muscular arm was overhead, gripping the serape in his hand like it would save him as he gasped in ecstasy and the other—.

The other was on the naked hip of McCree as he straddled Hanzo.

Your eyes went wide at the sight of the archer stretched out naked underneath the nude cowboy. Your eyes briefly saw the impressively huge cock of McCree bobbing against the archer’s tight stomach. The cowboy’s legs were bunched up and his skin was flushed as he slid down, his ridiculous hat sliding off his head and fluttering to the floor behind him. Two pairs of dark eyes—one pair puppy brown and the other almond-shape the color of black coffee—locked on to you.

You flushed, blinked, saw it all again, and then turned even darker. “I’m—I’m so sorry! Uhh...gomen nasai, shisho-san,” you bowed so low you were looking at your ankles and tossed the arrows inside before backpedaling and slamming the door.

You don’t know why, but you were crying when you got to your apartment. Slamming the door, you almost broke the lock when you twisted the knob that quickly. You turned off all the lights and flopped down with your back to the door. Hugging yourself tightly, you dug your nails into your arms. It hurt like an echo of what you were really feeling.

Heavy steps were coming down the hallway and you scuttled away from the door, shaking in the dark until they passed your door. Grabbing your music player and earphones, you slid them on and went to the little bathroom and plopped down on the tile floor. Burying your face into your arms, you slid on the earphones and turned the volume up.

Acidic rock blared and the lead singer—whoever he or she was—screamed out some kind of profanity laden rant. You caught enough that it was a scream-fest against a cheating lover, but the rest flowed past to try to outshout what your brain was telling you.

You were crazy.

You were a miserable student.

You were a failure as a student, an archer and a person.

You deserved to be alone. You should try to pack now, before you got someone killed. You should leave right this moment because the two heroes were undoubtedly talking with the commander to have you removed.

You were a crazy loser.

You kept turning it up, trying to drown out the looping voice in your head. After a while, it was working sheerly because it was echoing in the tiled room. Gritting your teeth, you turned on the taps and ran a bath. Your mam told you a hot bath could cure a lot of ills—one of the few things that was actually good advice most of the time—and that seemed as good an idea as any for what to do next.


	2. Chapter 2

Jesse fell over—only partly with embarrassment and more because Hanzo rolled his hips. Falling over, he narrowly missed the shattered pieces of the ceramic bonsai pot on the floor. “Well, what was that all about?”

Hanzo groaned, curled into a ball and rolled to his feet. He looked around and saw the arrows on the floor. Picking them up, he frowned and stared at the arrows. Ignoring Jesse as the cowboy scrambled up to his feet, the Japanese man tapped the arrow points against his palms.

Jesse picked up the bright red serape, fingering the heavy woolen fabric and scratching his head. “Is this...somethin’ important?” Hanzo was silent, looking at the arrows. “Look, babe, if’n she’s important, then I can...ya know, back on out or somethin’.”

Hanzo shook his head slightly. “It...it is complicated.” He looked at the other man thoughtfully. “I...confess that I do not know what to do.”

“Get some pants before ya catch cold,” Jesse suggested gruffly. “We’ll talk over some coffee. I even gotcha pack of yer fancy tea while I was out ‘n’ we’ll talk.”

“I have my own tea,” Hanzo muttered, reaching for his hakama and sliding them on. Walking to the quiver, he slid in the arrows. “But I would be grateful for the advice.”

“Hold on, sugar,” Jesse quipped, pulling on his heavy denim pants. “So...let’s talk.”

Hanzo turned on the burner and set the oversized kettle on it. Taking out some tea bags and a pair of cups, he waited thoughtfully until the kettle was hissing and then poured the steaming water in the cups. Bringing the cups to the tiny table, he offered one to the other man.

Jesse sniffed the bright green tea suspiciously. “Smells funny, Han.”

“It’s high-quality sencha,” Hanzo muttered, savoring the aromatic steam. “It is good for you.”

“My ma said th’ same thin’ ‘bout butter beans,” Jesse grumbled, sniffing it again. “Still smells like wet grass.”

Hanzo rolled his eyes dramatically. “It is still good for you.” He took a sip. “At some point, I will serve you Chinese longjing. That is truly wonderful to drink.”

“Will it smell better?” Jesse took a hesitant sip. “‘Cause this still smells like boiled lawn clippings.”

“Quit complaining. It is still good for you,” Hanzo grumbled. “Besides, less caffeine might help you sleep better.”

Jesse flushed, sipping the hot drink. “I sleep jus’ fine after ya—.”

“Don’t!” Hanzo interrupted. Swallowing some of his tea, he set the cup down thoughtfully. “I do not know what to do.”

Jesse hummed and set the cup down on the table with a small shudder. “So who’s she?”

Hanzo shrugged. “She is a relatively new agent. I was assigned to help mentor her for her first few months. She was a mess.” He frowned thoughtfully. “Something in her past.”

“What happened?”

“I...do not know,” Hanzo admitted with a slight flush. “I never asked and she never offered to talk about it. Truthfully, she has been very quiet about her history and I am ashamed to admit that I did not think it would matter.”

“So, yer still workin’ with her.”

Hanzo nodded, taking another sip of tea. He shrugged a little. “I was her mentor during her initiation. Her primary weapon is a laser rifle.”

“So, shouldn’t 76 be workin’ with her now?”

“I thought so as well.” Hanzo took a final swallow and set the empty cup aside. “However, when I saw her reaction to 76, I agreed to continue working with her.”

“So, she’s...?” Jesse shook his head and scratched his head in confusion. “What happened with 76?”

Hanzo sat back, frowning. “I had not seen a reaction like that in many years—not since I joined Overwatch after Genji.” He cocked his head, brushing some of his long hair over his shoulder. “He spoke to her—something inconsequential about one of the customizations on her rifle—and she went pale and it was like...like she shrank.”

“What?”

“She was already at attention and she shook his hand, but it was like she could not drop his hand quickly enough. 76 told her to be at ease and somehow she went stiffer. He asked her about something—the suppressor, I think—and she went completely pale and almost did not answer. When 76 asked her if he could watch her practice on the range, her jaw clenched and she gave him an affirmative answer, but it was obvious that she did not want anything to do with him.” Hanzo puffed out a breath with a frown. “I do not have a word in your language to describe it. It was like she pulled inside herself like a turtle pulling inside its shell—her face went blank, her body went rigid. Every single part of her just...shrank back and went so deep nothing could reach it and left her body behind.”

“76 can be a bit...well, intimidating ta th’ new folks,” Jesse offered quietly.

“I had thought so as well. I thought that after getting used to the team, she would naturally gravitate to 76 or Amari with what I thought was a common interest in rifles.”

Jesse nodded. “An’ I’m guessin’ that she didn’t.”

“She did not.” Hanzo sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose to relieve the headache he could feel coming. “When it became obvious she was not going to move on, I decided that I would try to reach her. I tracked her down in the library and found her—.” His cheeks went vaguely red as his hand dropped. “She was surrounded with books and sketches and all sorts of things.”

“Like what?” Jesse asked with amusement.

“Ancient Japan,” Hanzo muttered with more of a blush. “It was all sketches of samurai and kimonos and ninja—even some ink drawings and ink paintings, pages and pages of notes and timelines and cross-references, maps and many books. History books and dictionaries and so on were all over the table.”

Jesse leaned on the table with a grin that Hanzo found roguish. “Sounds like a match made in heaven.” The archer shot him an exasperated look. “But I’m guessin’ that she didn’t react well?”

“She did not,” Hanzo agreed. “As soon as she noticed me, she folded it all up and stuffed it in a pile and got up and left with it.”

“Jus’ like that?” Jesse blinked in confusion.

Nodding, Hanzo sighed, “Just like that. She did apologize for being in my way a hundred times—for ‘taking my table’—and kind of bowed and bolted. It was insanity—there were at least twenty other tables available. But she kept muttering that she had taken my table and apologizing and left as quickly as possible.

“The next day, I waited at the table for about two hours to see if she would return. She came in with her binder and such and as soon as she saw me, she went pale and went to an empty table across the room.” Hanzo snorted a laugh. “What made it amusing was that she had originally chosen a table with the atlases and across from the kiosk on language dictionaries. She did not choose the next table or a desk nearby, so she ended up walking across the room multiple times to refer to books or maps. All to avoid sitting at the table with me.”

Jesse blinked. “That don’ make no sense, Han.”

“I know!” Hanzo made a frustrated motion with his hands. “She even walked the long way around the bookshelves instead of walking between me and them.”

“So, how did ya manage ta get her to go out an’ shoot with ya?”

“I ordered her,” Hanzo snapped in frustration. “I told her that I did not appreciate her ignoring my mentoring and if she wished to continue working with me, she would learn Japanese and archery.”

“An’ she took ta it?”

“Not in the slightest,” Hanzo scowled. “At first, she had a number of excuses and I threatened to write a report on insubordination.” He sighed. “When I did that—it was a mistake. She went completely rigid and every part of her started shaking. Her eyes went wide and she started sweating. Her voice became so soft that I could barely hear it and she started agreeing with everything I said. Even when I started making up accusations and lies, she agreed with it all and apologized repeatedly.”

“Well, maybe yer shot in th’ dark struck gold?” The cowboy scratched his head again in confusion. “What did ya accuse her of?”

Hanzo shot the other man an ironic look and propped his elbow on the table. “Among other things—including taking 76’s rifle and mask—I accused her of trying to seduce you.”

“What?! What the—?!” Jesse’s face flamed and he scowled as he sputtered. “I ain’t never—!”

“I told you—ridiculous accusations.”

“Well...she is kind o’ cute, but—.”

“Do not tease me, cow man. I knew that it was easy to prove that she did none of those things. I was expecting her to at least try to defend herself. To say something. But instead, she shrank inside again.” Hanzo shrugged eloquently. “So, I told her that I expected her on the range the next day or every word would be in a report to 76. 

“And the rest is history—she showed up with her uniform and equipment. She tries to speak Japanese properly, with the appropriate honorifics. She listens to my instruction and keeps trying. On the surface, she is an exemplary student—respectful, careful, methodical and disciplined. She is disappointed in her mistakes and I would guess that is far worse than anything I could say to her.”

“An’ underneath?”

“I have no idea. She stays completely behind her persona—tightly in a shell.” Hanzo flicked his fingers through his bangs. “I know that her persona is false—she does not hide that well. But I have no idea why.”

Jesse smirked, leaning on the table. With a slight flush, he softly replied, “So...jus’ so I’ve asked—and whatever answer ya got is fine—is it possible that she’s got a bit of a crush on ya?”

“A crush?” Hanzo shook his head, his long hair flowing around his shoulders. “I suppose it might be logical—but she does not show any signs. She does not try to get closer to me. She does not reach out to me or anything I touch. She does not even sit down at a table with me—or anyone actually.”

Jesse shrugged with good natured grace. “Well, I just thought I’d bring it up. Yer a fine lookin’ man an’ I wouldn’t blame her if’n she did wanna get close ta ya.”

Hanzo smiled and nodded. “And would you detonate with jealousy?”

The cowboy leaned back lazily. “Naw. I’m open ta whatever makes ya happy. If yer interested in bringin’ in someone else, I’m happy ta do whatever.” He grinned smoothly. “If’n ya want ta stay exclusive, I’m fine with that too.”

Hanzo considered his companion thoughtfully. “I do not know if she would understand.”

“She’s already gotten an eyeful. Not like it’d be a surprise.” Jesse shrugged lazily. “I don’t mind one way or ‘nother, if’n ya think it’d help.”

Hanzo looked sideways at Jesse. “I had thought that you were—.”

“Gay?” Jesse shrugged. “I’m a lil’ of ever’thin’. Yer just beautiful. I love what we got. But I also like th’ ladies.” With another shrug, he added, “I can love both.” He smiled slyly. “I’ll take what comfort I can get.”

“Is it so rare?”

Jesse’s face went serious. “Well...there’s not exactly a lot of love for outlaws—not th’ kind that anyone would want. So, I’ll take what I can get—male or female.” With a shrug, he concluded, “Th’ kind o’ real relationship that we have—that’s more rare than gold hen’s teeth. I ain’t never had nothin’ like it—and I can’t get uppity and picky about what who’s got what plumbing.”


	3. Chapter 3

You shuddered as you slid on your kyudo-gi the next day. Your body did not ache as much as yesterday, so it was marginally easier. You started towards the archery range slowly, your feet dragging with your anxiety. What did one say after seeing...that?

The menacing loop in your head kept going. You had humiliated him—embarrassed him in the most singularly worst way possible and in front of someone apparently close to him. There were no words in either Japanese or your native language to express how much you would give for that to not have happened.

When you got there, the range was empty. You frowned for a moment, and then remembered that the archer had canceled yesterday. Well, at least you could practice by yourself. You dropped your bag of gear and strung your bow.

The first shot went absolutely wild and plowed into the dirt. Wincing, you took out another arrow and settled it. Taking in a deep breath, you fired again and hit the target in the red ring. That was better and you were just warming up anyway, you reassured yourself. You lowered your bow for a moment, looking down range thoughtfully. Then a most unexpected thing happened.

You heard a bird chirp and saw it fly away. The wind brushed you gently and for a moment you could almost relax. The short grass whispered softly, waving in the breeze. There was a feeling of freshness as you stood outside with the sunlight pouring over you. You took another deep breath—this time with your eyes closed—and really took in the sun and fresh air. Everything was fresh and welcoming and your whole body felt like it was able to relax. Even that annoying voice in your head managed to pause to listen to the sound of a frog as it burped out its cry.

In a smooth movement, you stood in your stance and drew your arrow back. You could smell the woody scent of the shaft, the leather of your gauntlet and you felt grounded in strange way. That you were in a long line of archers—men and women—who all stood like this, drew a bow like this. The flow of history surrounded you, made you feel like you belonged somewhere.

Your string was back and you felt like you could really do this. You stared down the shaft, looking at the target. The circles felt closer and you took the deep breath before the release—.

“Hey!” shouted someone behind you.

The arrow flew out of your hand clumsily and plowed into the dirt, snapping the shaft in half. The string slapped against your arm and you couldn’t help but cry out at the sharp pain. Looking back, you saw McCree loping towards you with a big smile on his permanently tanned face.

“Hey, there,” he smiled, still about ten feet away. “Got a big mission. 76 wants an all hands meetin’.”

“Oh,” you whispered, looking away from him and at your broken arrow. “Okay—I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Ya got some time. Meetin’s in thirty.”

Jesse stood there, larger than life as you darted down the range and grabbed the arrows. Running back to the bag, you dropped everything in it and snatched the bag up. You were set to run back down the path, but the immense cowboy stood stock still in the middle of the path. 

You swallowed the thick lump in your throat. He totally saw your failure. He saw you fail your shot so badly that the arrow snapped. The image of him on top of the archer bloomed in your brain and it was probably only a matter of time before Hanzo knew about this.

What would he say?

You bit your lip and slunk down the path. The man refused to move—only folded his arms and waited for you—so you stared at your feet as you walked down the path.

“Yer sure a purty girl when ya smile,” he said.

You stiffened, glancing over your shoulder to see who he was talking it. Of course, there was no one there. You cheeks flamed and you muttered, “Uhh.... No, I’m not.”

He was still in your way, in the middle of the path as he dropped his arms to the side with a short laugh. Instead, he reached out his right hand to you. You wobbled a bit and scrunched down more. “Sorry...I’ll be out of the way. At the meeting. I’ll be at the meeting as soon as I can.” You stumbled in a clumsy circle around him. As soon as your feet got back to the path, you bolted.

“Hey, darlin’—wait up,” Jesse called from behind you.

You went faster, ignoring everything he was trying to shout to you. The only thing that you could think of that would be worse than disappointing Hanzo was disappointing the immense Soldier:76. You ran and your bag jostled on your back as the cowboy called you again. Running into your apartment, you threw your bag aside and shucked off the kyudo-gi. Grabbing your Overwatch uniform, you threw it on and snatched up a pen and pad of paper. As soon as you were able, you snatched open the door and flew down the hallway to the conference room.

You didn’t stop running until you were right at the heavy wooden doors. Taking in a deep breath, you slid quietly inside. 76 was already there, shifting through papers, along with two senior analysts. Reinhardt loomed in a corner, talking softly to Lucio.

Everyone’s eyes went to you as you burst in. Flushing, you slunk to a chair in the back in the corner. Bowing over your pad, you began fiddling with your pen—twirling it and flipping it—as agents, Senior agents and Elite agents filed in. The Elites and Seniors had nice rolling chairs at the heavy table with their names printed on little paper tents. Genji, Hanzo, Jesse—almost everyone—was here and you were immensely grateful that quite soon the seats in front were filled with massively muscled agents that blocked anyone from seeing you. Then, the lights went down as one of the analysts began projecting the screen.

Your part in the mission was important, but relatively uncomplicated. You had a stakeout point on top of a two story building with an abandoned hardware store on the first floor and an empty apartment on top. You were expected to cover the movement of agents moving down the narrow street and through the back alley.

You took notes—important who’s and what’s and when’s—and listened with a half ear as 76 gave instructions to the Elites. It wasn’t until Jesse asked a question in his soft drawl that you spiraled down. Your breath caught and your eyes went wide.

Had he told Hanzo yet? Your mind worked frantically. 76 hadn’t heard yet since you were still on the mission. He’d been known to kick off agents he deemed unsuitable in the drop ship on the way to a mission location. That meant that likely Reinhardt hadn’t heard either because the giant man was the most vocal about agents being out of line or inappropriate for the mission.

Your hand shook and the pen dipped, dropping a big splat of ink in the middle of your notes. Why were you here? Every single one of these people were heroes—the Elites were internationally recognized heroes. Every single one of these people were the best of the best. Special Forces, Green Beret, Marines, Rangers, Delta Forces—all those groups would weep with pleasure at having any one of these people....

Except for you.

You were no one. You couldn’t manage to hit a target today—how were you supposed to really help all these people? You were their opposite—weak. Were you some kind of token diversity hire? That would explain it—how you, of all people, ended up surrounded by decorated heroes.

Anxiety wrapped around you, making your hands shake. That damning loop was back in your head, reminding you of every failure you had ever done. Every single mistake was back in the front of your mind and for a minute, all you could see was the broken arrow in the ground.

Hanzo spoke next and you did not hear what he said—only what he had said days ago about your hopeless archery. What everyone else said was lost to you. It was only when the lights came back on and everyone stood that you were able to jerk out of your head enough to stand and creep out hiding in the crush of bodies.

You managed to make it to your apartment without falling apart too badly. Shaking, you plonked down on your chair. You pulled out your laser rifle and the heavy case that held your sniper scope. Before every mission, you inspected your rifle and your scope and then you did not let it go. You even slept with the rifle, wrapping your arms and legs around it like a lover. You remembered that one time as a cadet that another cadet had picked up your scope just before the mission. You had thought that it was fine—you were both Overwatch cadets, after all—and took your eyes off of it for a moment. As soon as you were deployed, you saw the difference—the scope was completely off and the calibration was absolutely haywire. You noticed the problem immediately, but it was too late. Thankfully, it was a training mission, and you were absolutely trained that you could not trust anyone to touch your equipment.

Your dark uniform was nondescript and you loaded up your pockets with the necessities. And extra ammo in every spare nook and cranny. Picking up your helmet and night vision goggles, you went to the loading area to claim a seat and some space for your rifle to be close by. Leaning back, you began the long wait for the mission to begin.

“Hey, shiela,” said a thickly accented voice. “This seat taken?”

You jumped and looked at the Aussie. Even before you caught his wild haircut and ragged clothes, you grabbed your laser rifle. “Sorry—I didn’t realize it was your seat.” You ducked around him to find another corner to lurk in.

Junkrat put his palm in front of his teeth and puffed out a breath. Nope—he didn’t smell funky or anything. Looking up, he asked no one in particular, “Was it somethin’ I said?”

Happily, the loading began a few minutes later and you shuffled into the hold. You were hoping that you would be able to stake out a corner, and while you did manage to get a corner, your luck ran out when Hanzo sat on one side and Jesse on the other side of him.

“Are you prepared for this mission?” Hanzo asked suddenly. You nodded slightly, scrunching in the corner. “You have extra ammunition? Your med kit?” You nodded again. Pointing towards your pockets, you showed him the small first aid kit and one of the spare clips. He waited for a moment and then added, “It is very important to be prepared.”

You nodded again, looking aside, and muttered, “Hai, shisho-san.”

He said nothing more and you were grateful for that. Support teams were dropped onto the rooftops about a mile away and you ran towards your position. Everyone practically vanished as you all hid in shadows. Taking out your rife and looking through the scope, you were relieved to see the faintly green shapes of agents and Elites going through the streets.

Talon agents were going to be coming through with a payload tonight. Patiently, you waited—you were good at that—and just like clockwork, the truck with the payload came into view. The Elites slowly crept out of their positions to surround them. Just like on the simulations, the Talon agents started going down all at once.

Your scope was tied to the Athena supercomputer gave you tiny lines and labels. You could see that it was Junkrat to the south, tossing bombs. 76 was a bit further north, flanked by Reinhardt. Your scope pointed to Hanzo, flanked by McCree, as they crept down a dark alley.

A Talon agent got lucky—turning around an instant before Hanzo surprised him and firing at the archer. Something happened—you couldn’t tell if he got hit or not in the murky green—and he moved to the side. Lining up the shot carefully, you fired as well, taking the Talon agent down.

That might not have been the best move. You had only a moment to pull back before they opened fire towards the rooftops. Your fellow agents rushed to the side of the building to begin returning fire. The staticky communications—worse now that everyone was talking and every message was encrypted and decrypted—filled with the shouts of the Elites and support personnel.

You shifted slightly, getting around a big pile of something to get a better view. Looking through the scope again, you saw the archer rise and keep advancing. Scouting up and down the alley behind him, you saw another group of insurgents—these were local mercenaries by the look of them—creeping up behind him and Jesse.

Without thinking, you fired on them, spraying down the back of the alley. All of them went down. Both Elites ducked, spinning around. According to your site’s readout, Hanzo spun a second time so that they were back to back and ready to face their attackers from all sides.

There was more gunfire—more bullets sprayed around. You were scoping another alley, listening to the chatter, and missed the small shadow lurking around the back of the building. He missed the first time, alerting the team to his presence. You spun and returned fire, fumbling to grab your spare clip. Then you felt the pounding force in your back, shattering your armor and deafeningly rattling your helmet.

Deafened and feeling like your bones were cracking, you lost your grip on the rifle. Dizzily spinning, you grabbed for the stock, the scope—something. The rifle spun in the air and you fell after it. Another pounding hit and you felt fire in your shoulder. The world went dark as you took a breath and you felt something else—something hard and sharp hit your back and then you felt nothing else.


	4. Chapter 4

You saw flashes—a dim sky, a med pack being opened and the yellow glow spreading over you, masked figures leaning over you, blinking lights—and heard voices. Someone was talking to you—you saw the vague fuzziness of the face and saw a mouth moving. There was ringing in your ears, though, and couldn’t hear anything.

The world was dark and it hurt. It hurt so much. It brought back too many memories—memories that you tried to bury but that still haunted your nightmares. You did not want to hurt anymore. It was why you did what you did, why you decided to run away, why you sat down and thought about it for a long time and then got drunk and joined Overwatch to hide your tracks as you kept running. You wanted to retreat again—but you couldn’t find a way to hide from the pain again.

There was a brilliant light. It was too bright in your face, like a spotlight shining in your eyes. The beeping was annoying too, although you would have sworn that you had left your phone back at the base. Your fingers were tingling, aching, and you couldn’t figure out where your rifle was. You were positive that you would have had the rifle close by—you always did, ever since that botched training mission. It should be under you—under your arm or under your shoulders.

The beeping continued and you realized you were groggy. Had you been to a party? Maybe you got that roaring drunk at a post-mission party. But that made no sense either—you never went partying with the agents. At most you would go off by yourself and get a single shot before going home. A single shot would not make you feel this groggy.

You slept again, weary. The grogginess would clear up. You would feel better after sleeping it off. You would silently vow to never drink again. You would get your gear back and never drink again.

Opening your eyes slowly again, you realized that you were not in your apartment. You were...somewhere else. You panicked—Talon had you. That explained the pain in your back and shoulder, your grogginess, and why you did not have your weapon. Wildly, you stared around, barely registering the monitors and equipment. None of this was familiar and you forced your aching body to rise and fight.

People came rushing in, shouting and grabbing you. Your arm was in a cast and you thrashed against them. Your eyes were still fuzzy and you couldn’t recognize anyone or anything. A pale shape walked in—peculiarly calmly next to the thrashing and screaming others. Hands gripped you and pulled on you. Talon would not get you without a fight and you screamed at them. Then the world went dark again and the last thing you saw was a shiny needle flash into a tube.

Talon was the first thing you thought when you woke up again. You were still in a low pain, but now you were strapped down as well as being hampered by a cast. Subtlety was called for, obviously. You kept your eyes closed this time, listening closely as footsteps came closer and went away. Talon was in for a huge surprise—you’d die before they’d get anything out of you.

Then you heard Hanzo’s voice, “Is she going to be well?”

You sagged, your muscles giving out. For a moment, you actually did think that maybe he had turned sides. If he had, you were in a world of hurt.

Another voice answered. “She will be fine.”

“I had been told that she had woken already,” Hanzo said gruffly.

The voice seemed hesitant to reply. “She did wake up briefly, but she did not seem to...be well.” Pausing, the finally familiar female voice added, “She fought us bitterly, screaming. We had to sedate her again.” Another pause. “It has been a long few days for her. Truthfully, we do not know if she had some form of brain damage or amnesia—.”

“Amnesia? Brain damage?”

“She took a lot of damage from the fall. We have had to do hours of surgery to get her this far.” He sighed. “It was only because you managed to get her back to the Overwatch base so quickly that we were able to save her at all.”

Your brain collapsed in relief. You were at Overwatch—it was safe to relax. That damning voice in your head still insisted on nagging. They knew you were awake. They were secretly Talon and knew you were listening to get you to relax.

But that did not explain Hanzo.

You took a deep breath. If they were Talon in some kind of elaborate mind screw, then you may as well face them now and get it over with. Opening your eyes, you looked blearily around—and saw the dizzy shapes of Hanzo and Mercy standing over you.

“Are you real?” you asked in your raspy voice.

They looked down at you in surprise. Finally Mercy answered, “Are you awake?”

You nodded. “If you are real, then I am awake.”

Jesse’s drawl filled the room. “Darlin’, ya gave us a scare.” Instantly you froze. “Ya don’ need ta fall off a buildin’ ta make us pay attention ta ya.”

You glanced around, but with your shoulder in a cast like this, you could barely move to see more than what was right above you. Then you realized you couldn’t move your other arm either.

“Oh, sorry about that,” Mercy smiled. “When you woke up fighting like that, we had little choice except to restrain you. Here, let’s undo those.”

You glanced nervously over at Hanzo, flinching as he reached for the straps. Looking up at Mercy, you squirmed a little and whimpered, “C-c-could we—? I mean...alone.”

She smiled down at you in almost psychic understanding. “Of course...patient confidentiality.” She looked at Hanzo and then over to the side where you guessed Jesse was. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

There was a pause as the men looked at her. The doctor’s smile thinned and her gaze turned steely. Finally, you heard the cowboy drawl, “I guess we’ll have ta wait, Han. We’ll mosey on to the waiting area.”

Hanzo glared down at you and was about to say something until he looked at your face. With a sigh, he finally nodded and you could hear them both leave. Mercy glanced down at you as well, ostensibly checking your pulse. You took in a deep breath and stared at the ceiling, waiting for the sound of the door closing. When it finally did, eons later, you let the breath out.


	5. Chapter 5

Mercy helped you get untied and more comfortable. Finally you were able to sit up, look around and get straightened out. The room was not interesting—a standard room with the hospital bed, several monitors and a turned off x-ray display along with your IV drips. An open door showed you a dark bathroom and a second door showed a shallow closet.

“Where...where’s my...my rifle?” you asked softly.

“Oh,” Mercy started, flushing. “Well...we can’t have rifles in here—it’s a safety regulation thing. Hanzo told me that he took the rifle and put it in your room, but it was such a rush when everyone came in that I couldn’t be sure.”

“Oh,” was all you were able to say. You told yourself it was fine. That you could build another weapon. You could easily find the parts, get another scope. There were a hundred things that you could do differently and make it lighter and easier and a better scope with a better buffer....

Mercy looked curiously at you as she checked you out. Finally she checked the last box on her paper and she pulled a chair beside the bed to sit down. “So, I am required to ask you this. Trust me when I say that I am as embarrassed as you are when I ask these questions.”

You were flushing a dark red even before she turned the page to the last questions. Moaning softly, you knew already that you did not want to even know what the questions were. Whatever they were, it was ugly stuff indeed to have the alabaster skinned doctor turn the color of a tomato.

She cleared her throat and started again. “Like I said, I am required to ask you these questions.” She shrugged a little. “It’s because of the Nassar Act—that we are required to ask these questions every time a patient comes in injured with more than contusions that do not have a clearly documented cause or if the patient exhibits...high emotional stress in the presence of their mentor. Or superior.”

You shuddered. You had heard about the Nassar Act in school. How that had happened—well, you knew how easy it was for a kid to fall through the cracks of systems and reporting—but the sheer numbers and the amount of political and corporate shakeups was breathtaking. So, the Nassar Act—in which every patient whose injuries scored above a baseline score on some kind of point scale or if a patient exhibited signs of extreme emotional stress in the presence of a designated supervisor or mentor was asked explicitly about possible abuse—was able to pass with complete bipartisan support. So while it was a good start—it helped close some of the holes—it did mean that a lot of questions that no one wanted to ask or answer every time you stubbed your toe.

She tilted her head and began the obligatory opening paragraphs. “In accordance with the Nassar Act, you are allowed to request a second person as a witness and to provide support during the questions. The Nassar act forbids your mentor and your immediate supervisors from being present during these questions. You are allowed to offer information anonymously and report abuse of yourself or others and those you report are not told about your confidential reports and are forbidden from seeking retribution because of your reports. Do you understand this information?”

“Yes,” you sighed.

“Do you want a support person brought in for answering these questions?”

“Oh, hell no!”

She smiled and continued. “At any time you are allowed to bring in a support person. That person will be protected by the same confidentiality acts as you. Anyone you accuse or report will not be informed of the identity of any support person you designate, and they will be forbidden from seeking retribution against the support person you designate. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“The first question is...how long has Hanzo Shimada been your mentor?”

You did not look at her, just stared off into the distance. “Ever since I joined Overwatch.”

“So, he was your initiation mentor?”

“Yes,” you whispered. You felt yourself shrinking back into the hospital bed. The initiation mentors were assigned randomly, but generally everyone shuffled around to gather in little groups depending on common interests—hobbies, primary weapons, or something. You had simply not moved on in order to avoid having to speak to yet another person.

“Have you been given adequate opportunities to evaluate and offer feedback on him as your mentor?”

“Yes.” Every year you had to log into some little internal website to give reviews. It was pesky more than anything else. You didn’t have the courage to give him anything less than stellar ratings across the board.

“Have you been given multiple, adequate opportunities to change mentors?”

“Yes.”

“Have you been given multiple, adequate opportunities to report any misconduct by him?”

“Yes.”

Mercy nodded slightly, coloring as the truly embarrassing questions began. “At any time, has your mentor offered, suggested or made any attempt to pressure you into any sexual action that you did not consent with?”

“Y-no,” you started. Your blind retreat-and-agree reaction would not work here. The Nassar Act questionnaire was randomly generated each time it was printed, to prevent prompting and, ironically, to prevent your exact reaction.

“At any time, has your mentor refused to report any complaint that you have had about any superior?”

“No.”

“At the time of your injury, was your mentor or any other superior attempting or suggesting any sexual act that you did not consent to?”

“No!” God—sex was the last thing on your mind when you got injured.

“Has your mentor officially reported any complaints that you have had?”

“Yes.” You hadn’t reported anything.

“Has your mentor at any time suggested or offered you promotion, compensation, referrals or recommendations in exchange for sexual favors?”

“No.” While the sight of Jesse and Hanzo together bloomed slightly, your mind shook at other, older injuries.

“Has any superior refused to take any report of abuse or attempted abuse, towards yourself or another agent of Overwatch?”

“No.” The sight of the bright red mats under you bloomed in your mind and the feel of helplessness began to flush through you. You slid your hands under the blankets and curled them into fists with your nails digging into your palms. The sharp pricks in your palms made those helpless images retreat a little bit.

“Are you confident in reporting abuse to your superiors and mentor?”

“Yes.” No—you never told anyone.

“Are there any instances of abuse, by your superior or mentor or other agents, that you would like to report now?”

You began shaking. No one would believe you. Besides, it was so long ago that no one would care. You were out. You had escaped, clawing and kicking and screaming, and now you were an ocean away from him. More than an ocean away from him.

Mercy peered at you with medical formality. Taking a deep and rather loud breath, she repeated the question. “Are there any instances of abuse, by your superior or mentor or other agents, that you would like to report now?”

You could barely hear her. “No.” Your voice choked for a moment. “No one here has done anything...to me.”

“If you need a minute?” Mercy offered as she watched you.

“N-n-no. I’m fine.” You shook your head, frowning and biting your lip. “Can we just get this done? I mean...I was injured during a mission. There’s nothing to report.”

“Do you remember how you were injured?” Mercy set aside the questionnaire for a moment. “How it happened?”

You shook your head. “Not really...not a lot. Just looking through my scope and trying to provide support. I spun to...to....”. What were you doing? “I...fell. I dropped my rifle and I was falling.”

You were always falling. It made you weak...made you feel helpless. Why were you here again? Why were you the only weakling surrounded by heroes? Your head hurt, it was pounding. It was always churning inside your skull—always nervous and looking over your shoulder. 

“Are you all right?” Mercy’s voice was distant. “Are you in pain?”

“My head hurts,” you whimpered.

“I’ll get you something.” She rattled something out over the medical intercom. “You were shot in the back with a medium caliber rifle. Another round with the same ballistics signature glanced off of your helmet, causing a concussion which may result in temporary amnesia and temporary side effects of headaches, blurry vision and confusion.”

A nurse appeared with a clipboard and a small plastic cup. Mercy stood and grabbed it, signing the papers and giving the nurse the top copy of the paperwork. She came up to you and offered you the cup.

You shuddered as you stared at the pills in the bottom of the cup. “What is it?”

“It is a common pain killer,” she smiled. Even her professional smile seemed warm and genuine.

You had fallen for that before.

“No!” you barked angrily. “What. Is. It?”

Doctor Ziegler reared back at the sudden snap in your voice, her professional smile dropping in her shock. “I have recommended 500 milligrams of acetaminophen to help with headache.”

You poked the pills, relieved more than you could say when you saw the tiny printed logo of a common pain medicine. You didn’t—no, you couldn’t believe it for a moment and you picked up the pills and rubbed them between your fingers. The logo remained crisp and none of the ink came off on your fingers. Looking up sharply, suspiciously, you did swallow the pills.

She nodded and put the cup in the trash. “You’ll feel better in about 30 minutes.” She sighed and scooped up the various papers and clipboards. “I’ll come back in and finish the Nassar questionnaire. Is there anyone you would like to bring in as a support person?”

“No—no one.”

She left you alone with your thoughts. Unfortunately, the various medicines and medical help couldn’t stop the run of thoughts in your head. You saw it again. The mirrors and mats and the endless parade of pills. You saw the bugger again, with his shark grin. You were weak and cold—you could feel the shivers crawling up and down your body.

Thirty minutes passed quickly and the pounding in your head eased. You could remember things a little bit more clearly—the pain blooming in your back and the ringing from the helmet. You could remember grabbing in midair for your rifle, seeing it spin over and over as you plummeted. You remember seeing stars and then nothing else.

Actually—you remembered waking up once. Seeing things in a fuzzy light and being convinced you were in a Talon base. You remembered fighting the Talon agents, hearing Hanzo’s voice. Then you remembered waking up just now.

“Are things better?” Dr. Ziegler asked when she came in again.

You nodded blankly. This was as “better” as you were going to get. The rest of the Nassar questionnaire went quickly. It was mainly repeats of questions asking if Hanzo—the Hanzo Shimada who was decorated by the UN and internationally recognized as being the linchpin to bring the Shimada yakuza family to justice—had beaten or abused you. The very idea was laughable if you had any will to laugh.

The doctor explained your injuries simply and softly. You had broken two bones and there had been a lot of concern about how hard you had hit your head. You had been unconscious as they had given you the majority of scans to determine how serious your head had been hurt, but now you had a number of additional scans and tests.

You patiently went through them, mostly ignoring the questions and doing whatever you could to make it through with a minimum of fuss. You kicked when your knee was gently hammered, said ‘ahh’, and gripped various things to show that you had control of your hands, feet, legs and body.

As you were being wheeled through to get a second MRI, you passed an open door. Hanzo’s broad, muscular body overflowed the meager seat and Jesse was a giant beside him. A lawyerly looking chap was speaking to them intently with a pile of papers. Jesse’s eyes met yours with a grim expression and then he turned back to the paperwork.

The next day, you were allowed to rest relatively unmolested. Nurses came in with your lovely liquid meals—it would be another day before you could have solids—and took your vitals. Dr. Ziegler returned with questions and papers. You steadfastly refused to have anyone come in, despite the anxious noises from the good doctor. You refused to listen to the messages from Jesse or Hanzo—too worried that whatever they would insist on you leaving Overwatch.


	6. Chapter 6

It wasn’t until the day after, when you were finally served your vegetable soup, turkey wrap and salad, that you heard voices outside your door. You couldn’t quite make out what was being said, but you could hear the voices raising higher and higher. It gave you the shivers—whoever was out there was plenty upset—but you were stuck trying to spoon in chunky soup with your other hand since your preferred hand and arm was in a cast and, to be honest, you were not quite succeeding at that. Soup had spilled everywhere, you were only eating half of your salad before giving up on trying to spear and guide the fork. The pills that Dr. Ziegler prescribed—a powerful antibiotic and some pain relief—only made it harder and left you vaguely disoriented as long past memories flickered between recent thoughts.

You heard a thump on your door, and Jesse burst in suddenly. Doctor Ziegler had her arms wrapped around his chest, and was tugging with all her might. Around the giant cowboy, she looked like a frail child holding back an adult from seeing the mess in her room.

“Now, Doc, I gotta talk ta her, er else Han’s in a heap o’ trouble!” the cowboy yelped, his drawl deepening in obvious stress.

“No, McCree! She has not given her permission to allow anyone in her room or access to her patient files.” The Swiss woman tugged against him again as he staggered closer to the bed. “I must protest. As a matter of patient confidentiality, you need to leave this room! Or else!”

“Or else, what, Doc?” he laughed, taking another headstrong step and dragging her along.

“Or—or I’ll call for security,” she replied, tugging futilely again.

“Darlin’, jus’ tell Doc here that we’re jus’ gonna talk,” he begged with large brown puppy-dog eyes.

Mercy released him and looked impatiently at you. In her hand was a small device with a bright red button—her call signal for security in the hospital. “Do you want to talk to...this man?”

You looked up timidly at the giant cowboy. Had he always been so huge? His whole face was pleading with you. He snatched off the dusty cowboy hat and held it tightly in front of him. His cheeks were flushed and he looked even more shaggy than usual. He shifted from foot to foot nervously, looking at you with eyes that appeared to beg all by themselves. “Darlin’, please! Han don’t got much time afore there’s a heap more trouble.”

You looked up at the doctor and she held up the beeper as she stared daggers at McCree. Finally, you nodded at her silently. Jesse puffed out a relieved breath and offered you a tense smile beneath his bristly beard and mustache. “That’s good o’ ya, darlin’. Real good.”

“Make it quick, McCree!” Doctor Ziegler waved the beeper again. “I don’t need my patient stressed unnecessarily.”

“Okay, Doc,” he nodded. “Okay.” He looked at you nervously. “Now, darlin’, I gotta talk ta ya quick. Han’s in a ton of trouble.” He shot a dirty glance at the doctor. “Th’ Nassar Act questionnaire done triggered an investigation on Han, sayin’ he’s abusin’ ya and stuff. That yer jumpy ‘n’ stuff ‘cause o’ somethin’ he did.”

“What?!” you yelped. Jesse looked at you wildly. “But...I.... I never. I-I-I answered all the questions right! I swear I did it all right! I....”

Ziegler looked pale and dropped the beeper. “Oh my God.”

Jesse stood over you, tugging nervously at his bandana. “Then I need ya ta help us out, or else Han’s gonna never see th’ light o’ day again.”

You swallowed heavily, setting down your spoon clumsily. You couldn’t manage to be a hero like Hanzo or Jesse, but you could at least clear his name. Shaking off another round of shivers, you nodded. “O-o-of course. W-w-what else do I need to do?”

Jesse snatched up the chair and pulled it over. Then he took a look at your face, pale and drawn. With a thoughtful look, he scraped the chair further back. “Darlin’—he needs ya.” He tossed a look over his shoulder. “Doc—yer in on this too.”

Doctor Ziegler was even more pale as she stepped forward, well within view of the door. “All right. Let me see if we can get to the bottom of this.” She rattled orders over the intercom again. “We’ll see the paperwork I submitted and see what happened.”

The paperwork appeared with lightning speed as you were finishing your juice from lunch. Mercy picked it up and paged through it. “We’ll go through it again. There’s nothing that I can remember as far as your paperwork that would trigger this, and the system didn’t show any alerts, but we’ll do an official rework.”

You shuddered as the paperwork was regenerated. No one that you’d ever dealt with had ever believed the paperwork, but it was protocol. Mercy re-read the boilerplate and you agreed that you understood the orders. Jesse leaned back, folding his hands prayerfully with his hat in his lap. You agreed that he could be in the room—another bit of officialdom making things difficult—and Mercy noted it on the new paperwork. Sudden scenes of that mat, the anonymous little pills...the smell came back....

She began to go through the randomly ordered questions. Jesse’s eyes went wide and he leaned over nervously, praying almost audibly. For a moment, you thought about the other time.

“At the time of your injury, was your mentor or any other superior attempting or suggesting any sexual act that you did not consent to?”

“No,” you whispered. No, it was never Hanzo or even Jesse that was a problem. They’d take a bullet for any member of Overwatch. If you were in a Talon base, you’d be less sure—they were all miscreants and crazy people. Like that one crazy guy.... That time.... But this was Overwatch...and you were safe here.

You always thought that you were safe just before you fell down again. And again and again, over and over until you had no idea what safe was anymore. You looked at the desperate faces staring at you—you did know what safe was, right?

“Have you been given multiple, adequate opportunities to report any misconduct by him?”

Had you? You couldn’t remember anymore. You shook yourself, trying to get back to the present. “Yes...I’ve had plentiful opportunities, but nothing happened to report.”

“Are there any instances of abuse, by your superior or mentor or other agents, that you would like to report now?”

You looked back at the bed. “N-n-no.”

“That’s hardly convincin’, darlin’,” Jesse muttered softly.

You looked wildly at him. “Convincing?” 

You shook again. No one ever believed you when you told the truth. It was happening all over again. No one would believe you—not then, not now. No one ever believed....

“What was that, darlin’?” Jesse asked softly.

You shook your head to clear it. “W-w-what?”

“Ya said it,” Jesse whispered. “Ya said, that ‘no one ever believed ya’.”

“I...I did?” You were shocked almost senseless. Instantly your hands balled up and you looked away, shivering. “I-I....”

Ziegler looked shocked for a moment, then her voice whispered out. “Are you talking about Hanzo Shimada?” You shook your head, but you couldn’t stop the few tears from trickling down your cheeks. Your life was starting to unravel and you could feel your brain starting to jitter through all of stress and all of the hot mess your life had been. “Or were you talking about someone else?”

Suddenly your head was nodding. The words tumbled out. “S-s-someone else.... Hanzo would never h-h-hurt anyone.”

Jesse breathed out a sigh of relief. The cowboy took in another shaky breath. “Darlin’, I-I-I know this is hard. But...yer safe.” He reached out a timid hand, drawing it back when you swatted at it. “I’m right here...I’ll keep ya safe.”

“It...it’s nothing,” you muttered sourly, wringing your hands. “A long time ago.”

“Don’t matter none,” the cowboy insisted in his deep drawl. You looked at him tearfully. “Now...I know ya wanna have Mercy go an’ tell everyone that Han’s straight ‘n’ narrow, but I think he’ll understand if we get this out first.” 

He moved slowly, opening the long, heavy coat to reveal his Peacekeeper. Mercy let out a gasp, which only made Jesse growl at her before turning back to you with the softest expression. Gingerly, he drew the gun and put it next to you on the bed before moving back to the seat. There was a soft scrape as he drew the seat back further.

After another pause, he whispered, “Now, ya got the Peacekeeper. Ya hold all th’ cards.” He cocked his head at you. “An’ Mercy’ll call all th’ backup ya want—a whole posse, if’n ya want.”

You looked at him wildly. Why had the legendary Peacekeeper been put there again? Why was Jesse offering himself in the open like this? He held up his hands as you kept staring in a bit of a confused haze. You whined softly, “Why are you doing this, McCree?”

His bristly face softened a bit. “Darlin’, I know what it’s like ta not have a soul believe ya. Ta think that the whole world is against ya. I know what it’s like ta hold that kind o’ burden and how it’ll tear ya up inside.” He glanced down at the heavy pistol. “I know what it’s like when someone else has all the Jokers and th’ deck is stacked against ya ‘n’ all ya want is fer someone—anyone—ta just listen ta ya ‘fore ya burst.

“So, now ya got all th’ cards. Ya get ta stack th’ deck. Ya got a nice weapon, ‘n’ can take hold of it gentle like if’n ya need ta.” He pointedly held up his hands again. “An’ all I’m askin’ if fer ya to jus’ talk a lil. Ya can do that, right? Jus’ talk—jus’ us two.” Mercy grunted—a distant figure listening in like a guardian angel. “Jus’ us three.”

Your voice came out soft and almost drugged. “It was a long time ago, Jesse.”

“All I got is time,” he said softly. “Jus’ start talkin’ and I’ll be listenin’.” You nodded, your fingers of your off hand flicking over the heavy stock. “Ya can touch her if’n ya want.”

Your fingers ghosted over the dully gleaming metal and glistening wood. “Is it really the Peacekeeper?”

“Yeah, that’s really th’ Peacekeeper. She listens really good, too.” He offered you a small smile. “An’ when she talks, everybody else listens.”

If you hadn’t been half lost in your own private hell of bad memories, you would have smiled. “I haven’t ever.... I didn’t....” You puffed out a breath. “No one’s wanted to hear this before.”

“Hear what, darlin’?”

“I was...I was.... It was a long time ago. I was in trouble—stupid stuff, little kid stuff—and it was just enough that the local police were involved. There was a new program. Someone thought it would be a great idea to see if some of us would be turned around by learning some martial arts. Supposed to make us disciplined and go straight and all.”

“An’ I’m thinkin’ that it didn’ quite turn out like that.”

You shook your head, tears blinding you. Jesse swallowed and pulled out a handkerchief to hand to you. Instantly, you reacted—snatching up the Peacekeeper and leveling it at his chest in a moment. He stood stock still, watching you, as Mercy gasped. “Darlin’—just a handkerchief. Ya gonna shoot me over that?”

You looked at him and for a moment, you saw your tormentor. The two faces kept switching back and forth to you like a dizzy, horrific cartoon. Suddenly, you saw him for real—his real face and the calm brown eyes looking deep into yours rather than the golden hazel ones. His hair was shaggy brown with a few threads of gray, rather than a brown buzz-cut with bleached highlights. Taking a big swallow of air, you blinked and let the tears flow down as you stared at him.

His expression—soft and quiet and calm—didn’t change. He stayed stock still like he was dipped in cement and dried. “Now, darlin’, someone done hurt ya bad, right?”

“Yeah,” you wept softly, lowering the revolver slightly.

“An’ it’s somethin’ that we all wanna know. Don’ matter how old it is—all of us want it ta come out.” He sat down again, his hands still raised. “An’ I’m sorry fer spookin’ ya. Jus’ thought ya might like somethin’ fer yer face.” He didn’t let his eyes stray from yours. “Ain’t that right, Mercy? We all wanna know.”

“Y-y-yes,” she murmured.

“See? Jus’ keep talkin’. Let it all out, darlin’.” He offered you a gruff smile. “Does this snake have a name?”

You nodded, the adrenaline leaving you as quickly as it rose. “Yeah...it was Randolf Connor.”

Mercy gasped, but her voice was a faint whisper. “I know that name. He was supposed to be leading a youth group—teaching troubled youth martial arts. It was supposed to be a revolutionary therapy or reform program. Then there was some big blowout—accusations about abuse and drugs—and the whole program was shut down.” She looked at you so hard that you felt her gaze. “You...you’re her. The girl in the picture.”

You nodded, your arm tired and the revolver lowering another inch or two. “I was with a bad crowd. They wanted to rob a liquor store—get some booze and some cash and get out. Everyone busted in and everyone else had a gun. The owner got shot in the leg, and then the cash and some beers and booze was taken and everyone but me got out.

“The cameras showed that I only came in with them—I didn’t have a gun or anything—so instead of 10 to 15, I got sent to the program. Helping Our Children Succeed—HOCS—it was. I went to study martial arts for eight weeks and some probation.” 

You began shaking, unable to believe that the hospital was really this cold. Jesse puffed out a breath and asked in a low voice, “Ya want th’ coat off’n my back ta get warm?”

You looked up at him curiously. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Darlin’, I got the Peacekeeper aimed at me. I’m sweatin’ bullets here.” You stared at him and he was dead serious. You felt a bit chagrined that you were still aiming at him and you gently set the pistol down on the bed. Pulling up the blanket, you wrapped it further around you. “So ya go into this place. What was it like?”

“It...it was a huge cement block warehouse. Part of a downtown revival effort, the city let businesses come in and rent the warehouses cheap. Th-there were red mats all over the floor and some mirrors along one wall. The ceilings were dirty and dusty and the lights flickered like lightning half the time and were burned out the other half.

“He told us to call him ‘Master’. Said that he could show us the way to be like him. His posters said that he trained Olympians and that year he was recognized as supplying experts for Overwatch. That was his thing—that he could teach you to be good enough that your future was made because you’d be famous and stuff.”

“Go on,” Jesse encouraged. His hands went down half an inch. “Let it all out. Don’ let th’ snake keep gettin’ by with yer silence.”

“I was okay—but I was the smallest and weakest there. I couldn’t do anything right. So he told my dad that I needed some extra training.” You heard Mercy’s intake of breath. “That I’d be able to go straight if I just put in some extra time. He told my parents I had lots of talent, and that if I got my chance, I’d do great as long as I was willing to put in the extra time with him.

“No one had ever said that about me—that I was talented. I did average in school, but I hated gym and was all elbows and knees. Last picked and on the bench most of the time and all that. No one had ever said that I was good at anything that didn’t involve books.” You took a shaky breath, your eyes filled with tears. “So, I was surprised that he said. And kind of proud that I was finally doing well. I didn’t have any problem spending more time there at first.

“He kept telling me that I could do it. That I had an excellent chance of ‘making it’, of getting the attention of a talent scout or a recruiter or something. And when I was down or disappointed or something, he put an arm around me and tell me that I’d do better the next time. That I had a good chance of succeeding if I kept trying.

“And we needed that chance. My small town was dying—the old folks too old to leave and the young folks getting out and not coming back. The only thing I could have done there was get married and have some kids before getting a divorce and doing it again so that I could live on government assistance for the rest of my life. My parents needed to have a chance to get me out—to have me be someone who had a better life than they did. They agreed to bring me out, to let me practice more and do extra sessions and do whatever they could so that I’d have the chance to get out of town and make something of my life.

“So, they drove me over early. And I’d do the pushups and stuff. Hundreds of pushups and sit-ups and running around the whole building. I didn’t believe it would work, but one day, I was sparring and got a lucky shot on a guy. He went down and started screaming and I panicked because that was M-m-mast—.” 

Your voice couldn’t say it and you were about to shut down when Jesse supplied helpfully, “Don’ call ‘im that. Just call ‘im ‘Snake’.”

“It was...M-m-m-Snake’s favorite student. He was one of those that was always gonna go somewhere and do something and he wanted to bully anyone who didn’t agree that he was the best. I-i-it was a lucky shot—I got his eye. It swelled a little, but didn’t it turn black or nothing.

“When his parents came over, they shit a brick. How could this happen? And when I said I was sorry—they threatened me. Lawsuits and damages and stuff. Told...S-s-snake that they’d sue him, too.”

It got easier to call him “Snake” each time you said it. “So, Snake told them that I was a charity case and that he’d punish me for it. They kept at it, shouting that I was a criminal that I’d go to jail for doing that. I don’t know what Snake said, but he got them out of there.”

Jesse’s hands lowered another half inch. “Then what?”

Mercy—floating out and in like an angel—brought out a heated blanket and wrapped it around your shivering body. With a smile of her own that was placid and peaceful, she nodded. “Keep going.”

“Snake..,” you wept. “H-h-he threw me on the mat. Told me that I was never gonna be anyone and that I was a whore. He told me if I thought I was such hot stuff to hit his favorite student, then he’d show me I wasn’t.”

Mercy sat on the bed beside you, her hand under your cast so that your fingertips could brush hers. “Were you hurt?”

You nodded, “I had a twisted ankle, a sprained wrist and a black eye when he was done. A lot of other places were sore and bruised. I told him that I hurt—that he hurt me—and he laughed and said that I’d better pick my opponents more carefully. Then he took me to his office and...and....”

“Go on, darlin’.”

“He took out some smelly kind of muscle rub. He said that he’d treat my injuries and make them feel better. My hand was all swollen and he rubbed the stuff in. It had something good in it, because it made my hand numb. And he treated my ankle with it, then wrapped my ankle in a bandage.” You sniffled. “But when I got up to call my parents, he saw that I had a big bruise on my chest. It wasn’t anything—sparring from a week ago or something—and it didn’t even hurt that much. But he kept insisting on rubbing the stuff into it and every bruise he could find.”

“Ya were bruised all over from that, weren’t ya?” Jesse’s understanding struck you deep and you nodded. “And he kept rubbin’.”

“Yeah—from then on, after every session, he’d take me into his office and I had to...to take off the gi and he’d rub every bruise I had. I finally told him to stop and bought my own, but it was accidentally stepped on and the tube was destroyed.” You shook violently. “No...it wasn’t an accident...Snake did it. He stepped on the tube.

“And he always picked on me. If he demonstrated something, I was the opponent. If we sparred, I somehow was always with him. If anything happened, I had to do extra kicks and stuff. So I was always bruised.

“When I told him that I didn’t want him touching me anymore, he nodded and I thought it was over. He said that he understood—that I was growing up and stuff—and said that I needed to trust him. He even offered that he’d let me out of the program, but that he’d have to tell the judge I was stopping it.

“I couldn’t let that happen. If the judge thought I was disobeying the court order, then I’d get suspended or jailed or something. So I said that I needed to stay in. He nodded and let it go. I wasn’t being harassed or anything and someone else—one of the bigger, tougher kids—was his favorite then.

“Except...except about a week later, he drilled us hard. Said that at our next test, there’d be some scouts watching us and it might be our only chance to get noticed. My parents were worried and asked him about it, and he said that he just needed an extra hour the next night to be sure I knew what I was going to do.

“Of course they agreed. And the next night, all the other students went home. I began jumping rope and stuff, waiting for him to come out of his office and begin. I thought that if a scout noticed me, that I could appeal to go to a camp or something and get the rest of the sentence commuted or removed or whatever. That session was grueling—lots of sparring and crazy stuff—and even the seniors were groaning and limping out.

“He told me that since I was staying extra, I should take some pills he had so that I wouldn’t be hurting so much. After class, he took me to his office, gave me the pills and told me that they were just aspirin and to just take them. I told him I was fine and he kept yelling until I took them.

“I went out to hit the punching bag and for a while, he was in his office doing paperwork and stuff, so I stopped paying attention to him and kept hitting the bag. Then I felt dizzy—just weird and sick—and I told him, ‘hey, I’m not feeling good’. He finally got up and came over. I was leaning onto the bag and I remember sweating and feeling like I was going to throw up.

“I never saw him coming. He swept my feet and then drug me to the mirrors. He—He...”

“Honey,” Jesse said soothingly. “Jus’ let it come out. Like a puppy—jus’ let it out and run a bit. Yer okay.”

You nodded, vaguely noticing that Jesse had lowered his hands a bit more. “He peeled the clothes off of me—the entire gi—and began rubbing the gel on me. It was weird that I felt so sick and weak but he was just tending to my bruises like before and I was all numb. He got down behind me and pulled my hair until I saw myself in the mirror.

“‘Look at the little whore,’ he told me. ‘All confused and stuff. You know, doing illegal drugs will get you in all kinds of trouble. All I want is to make the hurt go away.’

“I told him—tried to tell him—no. And he laughed and got between my legs. ‘You’re just a sweet little girl, aren’t you?’ He laughed again. ‘And causing all kinds of trouble hitting people and stuff.’

“He—he fucked me on the mat, making me watch him in the mirror. I told him to get off, that I’d tell on him. He said that no one would believe me, that no one would care, and that as soon as anyone found out what I’d taken, that I’d be in jail for drugs.”

You were sobbing openly now. You didn’t honestly care what anyone thought right now. “H-h-he said that I’d better be around just like he wanted or I’d really make him mad. I told him I didn’t care and he said that my mom and little brother might care if someone attacked them. He said that I was his whore and I’d...I’d have his baby if he wanted me to have one.”

“Oh, darlin’,” Jesse’s drawl wove softly around you.

You nodded vaguely. “He said that he liked me, and I’d better stick around and let him do what he wanted. Said that he’d make my life hell and I’d never see the outside of a jail again if i didn’t. H-h-he said that he’d tell everyone how much I wanted him and how I set out to seduce him. That no one would believe me. He said that he’d be nice to me if I’d be good.”

You were shaking and Mercy gently took your pulse. “So, I said that I would be good. I’d do what he wanted. And I did—I did do what he wanted and whenever he wanted it. I didn’t want to go to jail or anything.” You burrowed deeper in the blankets. “He would rub me down with the gel and sometimes give me the pills—he said I was more exciting like that—and he’d fuck me.”

“What happened then, darlin’?”

“My sentence was up and I refused to go back. When I did, my parents kept asking why, telling me that I was giving up my only chance to do something with my life and get out of town. I told them I couldn’t go back, begged them not to send me back. They decided something was wrong and took me there to face him.

“My dad worked two jobs and my mom worked nights, so they both took time off to come with me. I got there and I told them that he was touching me and I hated it and I hated him. He came out and was all tearful and sorry to have bothered them. He said that I had come on to him, that I was on drugs and wanted his help to get straight and get off of them. He—Snake, told them that I had a secret boyfriend that I slept with and who gave me drugs, but that I got scared and came on to him, begging him for his help and sometimes jumping him when I was too high.

“My dad b-b-b-believed him. Told me to tell the truth. When I kept saying that there was no boyfriend, that it was a lie, that..bastard said to check my locker. He gave us assigned lockers with cheap key locks. When my parents did, they found two little pills. They said that they were shocked, that they couldn’t believe that I’d do something like that but that obviously I was more troubled than they thought.

You shrugged fatalistically. “And, the drug tests were all positive. That I’d done the drugs—it was all in my blood and pee and hair. He appeared at my hearing, he begged the judge to keep me in the program and that he guarantee my behavior and that he was sure I’d go straight if I could get one more chance. The judge said that the alternative was to go to trial as an adult and then to prison, so I...I-I agreed to go back into the program.”

Jesse puffed out a breath. “And back in ta the snake’s den.” He cocked a knowing eye at you. “And prob’ly from the fryin’ pan in ta th’ hot oil, too.”

You nodded. “He only fucked me a few more times before I decided that I’d had enough. He was beating me harder in class and I thought that he might kill me. So, I spat out the pills he gave me that night and...and when he was done, I went out and went home. I got all my stuff and went to a shelter.

“I did all the right stuff. I told everyone I could about him. But they all laughed and said that there was no reason for Randolf Connor to do that. That he had been recognized by the mayor and the police for help with stuff and he did all this charity work. He even taught self defense for the shelter. I kept telling people like I was supposed to.”

You sniffled again, blindly taking the handkerchief that Jesse offered slowly to wipe your face. “Finally I talked to a new girl at the shelter—only she was an undercover cop. She took it seriously, said that other complaints had been filed, and said that she’d take a statement. Long story short, it went to trial and a group of girls—mostly girls from the class, but one from his neighborhood—came forward. The complaint was filed and the press went bananas.

“The papers went crazy with the story and we all went crazy. The judge ordered us to be sequestered and we were moved into a hotel. We couldn’t even see each other except in the court. A lot of people—the mayor and the police chief and some others—came forward to talk about how Randolf went out and raised money with this group and did classes for that group and helped out so much. The training area was a big thing for our tiny town and it brought a lot of people in to watch the annual tournament. That they couldn’t see how on earth he could get us all so separated and stuff.

“The lawyers were the worst part. I had the theft thing and then the drugs on my record and it was like my words didn’t count. I was asked a hundred times if I approached him, if I had a secret boyfriend, if I wanted to hurt S-s-snake, if I was ‘uncomfortable with my body’ or trying to scam him. It was all so confusing and all over and over.”

Mercy cleared her throat. “But he did get convicted....”

“Yeah,” you muttered sourly. “On child pornography and for taking drugs himself.” You shrugged. “No one believed me—every complaint and accusation I made was thrown out. One other girl had her complaints thrown out, too, because she was deemed ‘mentally unfit’.

“That photo was after the judge dismissed my evidence. I had spent four days in the witness stand and I felt like I hadn’t eaten or slept in days. I looked like death warmed over and when I got off the stand, I just collapsed on the floor. The defense lawyers said that I was grandstanding—that I was faking it to get attention—and wanted me banned from the trial. The judge said that I’d be in contempt of court if I didn’t move immediately.” You shrugged weakly. “The bailiffs helped me up and I was moving a little until I saw Snake blow a kiss at me.

“I went crazy for a moment. I wanted to kill him with my bare hands and lunged for him. I was gonna rip him to pieces, but the bailiffs still had me in hand and pulled me back. We were supposed to be in a closed court, but someone took a picture right then and it went viral.” You nodded blankly. “So there’s a famous picture of the Trial of the Children’s Champion—can you believe that they called it that?—of me screaming with my hair and eyes wild and clawing at him, held back by the bailiffs.

“So after the trial—when he got like a 10 year suspended sentence and community service—I grabbed everything I could get my hands on. There was a small fund—mostly from my friends and folks around town—to help us girls and I took my share and ran. I didn’t get far enough—everywhere that I got to, people were shoving the photos in my face and asking for my opinions and stuff.” You sobbed openly into a corner of the blanket. “Every time that I thought I could relax, someone would do a computer search or something and that picture would get waved in my face again.

“So finally, after getting way too drunk at a place where no one cared how old you were, I saw a poster to sign up for Overwatch. I got in there,” you giggled bitterly. “And blacked out. When I came to, the Sargent said that I had talked a good game and I was enlisted.”

You shook your head. “I don’t remember even talking to him. Just signing some papers. I got a tiny bit of signing money and I used that to get to boot camp. But even there, I didn’t get out of it. Another cadet—Snake’s favorite star pupil—was there. I didn’t even know it, and he looked totally different with his hair shaved off, but he still had a grudge.

“On that training mission, I had gotten enough money to get myself my own laser rifle and my family sent me a great scope. He came along, told me that he was really glad I was out of that program and how glad he was he had gotten in through one of the tournaments and was out of that town. He asked to see my rifle and I thought—he’s Overwatch and he seems nice now and maybe I was wrong about him—so I handed it over. The sergeant came in and barked orders at us and it was a couple minutes before I got the rifle back.

“I didn’t know it, but my scope was screwed up. Just a few screws and the sight was way off and a wire came loose so it didn’t light up properly. I almost got knocked out of the unit because of how badly I did. When I showed the sergeant the rifle, he yelled and cursed and fixed it and then sent me to extra training on how to take care of my equipment.”

You shrugged. “Soooo, I got here. I chose to be assigned the really far assignments, preferably international, so that I wouldn’t have to deal with those photos and the press and stuff. I...I really tried to be good enough that I belonged here.” Your tears began flowing again. “I really wanted to be good enough so that I never had to go back. But I’m not good enough, because now Hanzo is in trouble because of me....

“I’m not smart like a tech that I can just land somewhere and get a job. So I’m stuck here until I get shot and die or discharged sometime hopefully that’s close enough I can retire somewhere else.” You looked up desperately at Jesse and Mercy. “And...and I can’t help it. I get nervous around people and I hate...I hate dealing with supervisors and stuff. I can’t breathe and I get crazy when I get evaluated.”

You shook with your tears, collapsing on the bed with angry, snotty sobs. This was the side you never wanted to show anyone here—the side that still hurt and still ached to feel better. “That’s why you have to let Hanzo out. He hasn’t done anything. He’s quiet and respectful and...and when I’m not being miserable at archery, he’s always making sure I have ammo and first aid kits and stuff.” You shrugged in misery and acceptance. If they kicked you out, then they kicked you out at this point. As long as they didn’t crucify the wrong man, then you could find another group looking for a thug. “If you have to drop anyone, I’m the one who deserves it.”

Mercy was the first to wrap her arms around you as you cried. “No one is letting you go. You are here and you are safe.” She sniffled herself. “And if you feel safe with Jesse, I’m going to file my report and make sure that Hanzo is cleared from any Nassar Act accusations.”

You nodded softly, not looking too long at anything. He still had his hands up, but you could see the bright sparkle in his eyes and a faint drop or two on his bristly beard. Reaching out warily, you took a gentle hold of the Peacekeeper and handed it back to him.

His relief was obvious and he slowly slid it back into its place before flopping down. “Darlin’, ya had me worried I was gonna get shot there for a bit.” Then with psychic insight, he cocked his head and whispered softly, “He—Snakey-snake—was a big man, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Looked a little like you, but not so...big. Wide.” You stretched your arms out side to side to illustrate what you meant. “But he had dark brown short hair and a bit of a beard that was wild.” You sobbed a little. “He had light hazel eyes, though, and yours are puppy dog brown.”

“Got me there, darlin’,” he nodded with a grin.

“You need to make sure that Hanzo gets out, though.”

“He’ll be fine. He’s been takin’ care of hisself long ‘fore I came along.” Jesse shrugged and leaned close. “Jus’ between you ‘n’ me, it’s not the first time he’s had to deal with accusations. Not Nassar Act—that’s new—but Lord, he’s got a past on him.”

“Err...Okay. I-i-if you’re sure?”

“Yeah.” You yawned and flopped into the bed, suddenly exhausted. “If’n ya don’t mind me askin’, whatever happened to Snake?”

“It was weird. He died in jail.” You shrugged. “The gossip was that one of the girls was a daughter or something of one of the other people in jail.”

“Good,” Jesse nodded. “I’d purely hate ta have ta explain ta 76 that I’m gonna take time off ta hunt him down fer ya.”


	7. Chapter 7

Jesse relaxed, sitting silently in the chair, and you napped. You were completely worn out. It was hard to describe your exhaustion. You had slept and had been wiped out on pain medications, but your lengthy talk had left your body and soul flattened. Jesse had told you that he’d be on hand to talk, and somehow you had felt better that he was there.

Mercy coming in woke you up. She had a huge pile of papers and saw the sleepy, worried look on your face. “First of all, Hanzo is fine. He went home and there is nothing on his record.” She looked at you with a supportive smile. “All of what you said is completely confidential. Nothing has been published and nothing has been added to your patient file.” She cocked her head. “I...I didn’t know how you wanted to handle it. It doesn’t quite fall under the Nassar act since Mr. Connor is deceased, but I want you to know that I’m proud of you for telling us. If you want to add some notes to your patient file, then I will. If you want to keep it confidential, then I will not.”

“Y-you’re...proud of me?” Your amazement cracked your voice. “But why?!”

She nodded, her eyes glistening softly. “The things you went through...they shouldn’t have happened to anyone. You did it—you got out and you are a success here.”

“A-a-a success?”

Jesse spoke up. “Sure, darlin’. Ya scored high on all yer evaluations. Even Han’s got his eye on ya, to see yer potential.” Mercy gasped pointedly at him. “If Han hadn’t been impressed, he’d have been all over th’ place ta get you replaced.”

“Oh.” That...vaguely made sense and gave you a slightly warm feeling. “I thought that...that he didn’t think I was doing a good enough job.”

Jesse smirked. “He sure does play his cards close ta his chest. It’s driven quite a few o’ his mentee folks plumb crazy.” He gave you another smile. “Remind me ta tell ya ‘bout it sometime.”

“Yes,” Mercy coughed. “I think that’s for another time.” She looked at you. “Anyway, I would advise that you consider adding a few notes to your patient file—just so that you don’t get accidentally triggered again. But that’s for you to decide. Otherwise, I would like to recommend that you consider taking advantage of some of the counseling services that Overwatch provides.” She flipped through the pad. “It won’t be a quick fix, but you deserve to get well.

“So...you are on the mend. You’ve got the cast on and will be grounded for about six weeks, but you will be able to resume your regular duties. You will be able to resume missions in about two months.” She smiled widely. “If you’re serious and keep up with your physical therapy, you’ll be good as new.” Briefly, she glanced at Jesse. “And I’d keep up with friends because if you’ve got folks checking on you and making sure you’re okay, you can go home tomorrow.”


	8. Chapter 8

You did go home the next day. Jesse and Hanzo both showed up to get you in your apartment. After another long nap, you were awakened to the smell of bubbling chili and the smell of fresh cilantro. Hanzo helped you limp to the tiny kitchen so that you could get a bowl of chili.

Jesse stood in your kitchen, making it look even smaller as he sniffed the bubbling pot. “Chow’s almost ready, amigos.”

Hanzo sighed with a stern look at the back of the big cowboy and then tilted his head towards you. “I did not know if you were vegetarian or not, so this time I insisted he not add meat.” His voice raised slightly. “The cow man seems to think that every meal requires meat—especially beef.”

Jesse chuckled as he pulled a bowl from the fridge to show you a chunky, homemade guacamole. “Don’t ya know that meat helps ya grow big ‘n’ get hair on yer chest?” He thumped his chest theatrically. “See?”

You laughed slightly, your eyes on the chunky green guacamole and the bag of chips on your table. “I think that I’ll stay like I am.”

Jesse opened his mouth to say something and then he glanced at you. Closing his mouth with an audible clop, he smiled and spread out bowls and dumping spoons beside them. When everyone had a bowl of chili—which was surprisingly yummy with chopped carrots, beans, onions, peppers, corn, and a whole bunch of tastiness—Jesse and Hanzo made sure to give you space as you got settled and tried to eat.

Hanzo broke the hungry silence first. “Jesse has not told me what was said or done—only that things were serious and not related to...to me.” You nodded slowly and he stirred he chili absently. “If there was ever anything that I have done to make you uncomfortable, then I will understand and do everything in my power to make sure you have a smooth transition to a more comfortable and better mentor.”

You choked on a chunk of carrot, glancing nervously over at the cowboy. “I...I....”

Jesse smiled over at you. “I didn’t tell anyone nothin’ secret...nothin’ confidential.” He shrugged, scooping up some guacamole on a chip. “But I think that ya might feel better if’n ya let him—.” Hanzo grunted harshly. “Never mind. I didn’t say nothin’.”

You thought about it. Talking to Mercy and Jesse, even just that one time, felt like a boil that needed to explode or something. You struggled to find words, and they started to choke you. You didn’t know how to begin.

Jesse waited for a bit, eating easily. Finally, he looked up towards the archer. “Han...how’s that new unit comin’ together?”

Hanzo looked at the other man curiously and then shrugged slightly. Then he looked at you and nodded. “The commanders are on board with forming a special team to handle crimes against children. We will be starting with investigating a lead that turned up at the last mission. Apparently one of Talon’s operations is a heavy trafficking operation taking children to...to Hokkaido.”

You looked at the Japanese man, dismay and concern scrawled over your features. “Oh my god. What happened?”

He jumped a bit and looked at you. “It...it was an accident, really, so I cannot take any credit. We found some payments going back and forth. It is shameful—not even my family trafficked children. But we have not previously had the structure to deal with crimes against children.” He flushed darkly, stirring his chili and not really seeing anything. “In light of this, I have submitted a plan to the commanders to have a special team to handle crimes against children. My...associations in Japan have given us a leg up on this particular problem because I know where these monsters live.

“The senior commanders support the idea, but we need to form a team of dedicated and passionate professionals who are properly trained.” He puffed out an anxious breath and looked down at his chili. “The biggest problem is finding people who are not going to get burned out. Child trafficking is the tip of the iceberg. Once we start finding these people, we will end up tracking pornographers, slavers, abusers and all manner of filth. It will never be easy, but I believe that we need to have the people who are properly trained so that we can handle children and get them to safety without causing more harm.” 

He looked up, not really seeing anything with his thousand yard stare. “It is...a little hopeful that we will be pursuing monsters who are worse than me—.”

“You’re not a monster!” You interrupted sharply with an unintentional growl. Scowling, you added. “It...it’s them that are the monsters.”

He blinked at your response. “I.... That is what I keep telling myself.”

You swallowed heavily. “I volunteer for your unit.” You paused. “It is going to be your unit, right?” He nodded with surprise dancing across his features. “I’ve got the time right now to do training.”

He took in a deep breath. “This is...personal, isn’t it?” You nodded shortly. “Then I would be honored to add you to the team.” He cocked his head. “But it will not be easy—there are all kinds of regulations and there will be times it will seem like you cannot get rid of the filth.”

“It’ll be worth it,” you replied softly.

“Well, don’t that just solve it all?” Jesse asked innocently.

The archer stared at him with narrowed eyes. “What are you not telling me cow man?” Jesse only hummed and served himself another bowl of chili. Hanzo crossed his arms. “I do not like secrets.”

Jesse only shrugged, looking at you through his dark lashes. “I just figured that she’d be up for it.”

“I will do the training now,” you muttered softly. “And do the meetings now while I heal up.” You took a deep breath. “I don’t want anyone like me to get lost in the cracks again.”

Hanzo looked at you seriously. “Like you?” He thought about that and then nodded. “Then I will put your name on the paperwork. I will be happy to have you.” You smiled widely as his brow smoothed and he appeared pleased. “I do not need to know more. If you wish to tell me, then I will be happy to listen, but I understand if this is...private.”

Dinner went a lot smoother as Hanzo outlined the plans and the various positions on his new team. He needed just about everyone—agents, analysts, techs, supervisors, and everyone in between—and there seemed to be endless opportunities for growth. He was almost poetic as he kept offering details and ideas and his eyes glowed as he got more enthusiastic.

Jesse was quietly watching as you listened. You were becoming more animated as well, offering insights and thoughtful suggestions. Your cheeks were getting rosy and your eyes were sharp. He kept quiet, just watching and encouraging you both to talk.

For six weeks, you were kept surprisingly busy. Hanzo often brought by paperwork and files, sitting for hours as you both went over the plans. Jesse also regularly came through, picking you up and helping you go to physical therapy, working with you to help regain your strength in your arms and hands.

It came out—the full story of Randolf Connor and all that he did—in bits and pieces. Hanzo was amazingly level-headed and cool about what you told him, nodding and offering you endless cups of tea and tissues as you talked to him. Jesse never told him a thing, though you could see in his cat-like smile that he wanted to, so Hanzo was a fresh perspective and a fresh set of ears.

Time soothed your anxiety as nothing else did. There were no reporters, no gossip behind your back as your mentor learned more and more. No one flashed that damning photo in your face. Jesse kept a poker face and stayed quiet and there were no rumors or gossip from the stern faced Hanzo. But, as you told more to Hanzo and Jesse, you felt better and better about it—it felt so good to finally tell someone who nodded and supported you and called the monsters by their name. You were even able to see an official counselor for a few intense sessions before agreeing to a regular weekly meeting to help you learn to handle your anxiety.

Having a name for that demonic voice in your head made it a lot quieter.

It didn’t happen all at once, though. As much as you wanted it to, silencing the anxiety demons in your head took a lot longer. There were tiny improvements—you were able to talk for a few minutes with 76 about getting some new parts for your rifle, you were able to go back to the archery range, you were able to sit down with Jesse and watch a short cartoon—but they were slow and hard-won and you felt like it was an eternity before you were approved to go back on a mission. If you hadn’t had the training and paperwork from Hanzo’s new child crimes unit to work with, you might have gone crazy.


	9. Chapter 9

The night after you got back from a mission—another sniper mission to provide support to the Elites from another rooftop—you wandered to Hanzo’s apartment with Jesse. You had been prepping for hours—making sure that your rifle was correctly tuned and the new customizations were stable and helpful, loading up spare clips, setting up all of your supplies—and were frankly exhausted.

“Yer caught in yer head again,” Jesse remarked casually.

“W-w-what?” You flushed. “What do you mean?”

He looked down at you with a smile. “Th’ way ya kind o’ stare at nothin’—it’s one o’ yer tells that yer caught in yer head.” He shrugged casually. “It’s hard ta break out o’ the habit and stop listenin’ ta th’ voices in yer head.” He looked at you with a thoughtful expression. “I thought it might help if’n I told ya what I noticed, but I’ll stop if’n ya want.” You didn’t answer immediately and he smirked and shrugged. “I couldn’t help but notice—I’ll teach ya ta hide yer tells if’n ya want. It’ll help yer poker game.”

You were surprised for a moment, but you were relieved to break out of that damning loop even just once. “It’s...okay. I appreciate it.” You paused. “So how do you know all about this?”

He shrugged, a dark flush over his face. “Personal experience. It’s hard ta break out.” He grinned. “It’s why I’m joinin’ Han’s new team, too—so I can stop it. Help some kids out ‘fore they have ta go running out their house in th’ dead o’ night wit’ nothin’ but their pa’s gun.”

You nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll keep your confidence.”

“I know.”

Hanzo was in a casual gray hakama and yukata and a pair of socks when you both arrived. He welcomed you in. The smell of soy sauce and ginger floated in the air, making you smile in anticipation. You were happy to work with both him and Jesse—all of you were passionate about the new unit and eager to get started.

In addition, both of the men could really cook, despite the radically different cuisines. Because of all of your extra hours, you rotated between the three apartments with each of you cooking for three. Jesse offered Tex-Mex and beef chili—so you’d get tamales, burritos, tacos, and enchiladas when loads of fresh guacamole and (somehow) the best home-made pico you had ever tasted. You did a variety of comfort foods—roast beef with potatoes, Irish stew, spaghetti, po’ boys with fresh shrimp, burgers and fries. Hanzo did sushi and sashimi, yaki imo with seasonal sweet potatoes, tomorokoshi when the corn came in, teriyaki and miso soup. Hanzo was also a most unapologetic foodie—bringing in fresh, quality ingredients and seeking out in season produce—who could make a simple bowl of ramen in broth an adventure.

You brought out a bunch of fresh cilantro and a box of organic bean sprouts and set them on his spotless counter. “Hey...I brought your groceries.”

“Arigato,” he rumbled in reply. “If you could chop the cilantro, then I will add the sprouts and get them done.”

“When’s chow?” Jesse asked hungrily.

“When it is done,” Hanzo said sourly. “It will not hurt you to develop some discipline, cow man, and wait quietly for your food.”

“Aww, shucks,” Jesse grinned. “It wouldn’t hurt ya none ta loosen up a little neither, honey.” He cocked his head and began to muddle some fresh berries with some sugar so that he could pour soda water over them. Hanzo refused to let him serve you any alcohol. “And it is ‘cowboy’.”

Hanzo only snorted in reply.

You flushed as you chopped the cilantro in the fine way that Hanzo preferred. He was always asking you or Jesse to chop parsley or cilantro or chives or something so that he could sprinkle it on top. And every time, Hanzo turned out magazine perfect dishes in his exquisitely glazed square plates complete with carved radish roses, perfect nests of threads of carrots, and tiny carved birds or animals.

“Behave, Jesse,” you added. You were always a highly regarded guest and they were never inappropriate or anything, but they did continue to offer each other occasional flirtatious comments. It was all in a casual, offhand way that was never meant to be offensive. It made you feel a bit cozy—comfortable that they both accepted you enough to let down their normal formality.

“An’ yer no fun, darlin’,” he smirked back.

Hanzo grunted again, pulling out his expensive plates and beginning to put the food on the platters. With a flick of his wrist, he sprinkled the chopped cilantro on top and then set a nest of carrot threads on one side of each of the plates, along with a small pile of the bean sprouts.

You shuffled out of the kitchen and began scooping up the plans and papers off the table. Jesse set the drinks—a pink, fizzy drink over ice with picks of berries and mint leaves in tall glasses and began setting three places with ceramic plates and the chopsticks with the dragons carved in the ends. Hanzo served his meals family style with the meal already cut into bite sized pieces on elaborately plated platters.

Over dinner, you all usually alternated between talking shop and general topics. The next mission wasn’t for a few weeks, which allowed you all some rare down time. The paperwork for the new unit had finally been submitted, so all that remained was to wait for the committees to grant approval, appropriate funds, people and spaces. Things seemed pretty hopeful, which felt absolutely amazing since you had all, as Jesse put it, ‘sweated bullets’ over the thick pile of paper and wrote and rewrote and re-rewrote whole portions of it.

Sitting back, Jesse wrinkled his nose. “Han, how in the heck do ya expect a grown man ta eat this grass and twigs?”

Hanzo raised an eyebrow. “I grew up on ‘this grass and twigs’ and it is extremely healthy.”

You giggled a little as they bickered in their good-humored way. “You know, you both sound like The Odd Couple.” Both of them turned towards you in confusion. “It’s an old show that showed two people who were complete opposites—that one guy was very proper and the other wasn’t, one was tall and thin and the other was shorter and rounder, one was neat and the other was sloppy.” Their shocked expressions were too funny and you giggled again. “If I can dig up some recordings, then I’ll show them to you.”

Both of them looked at each other and then you again.

“Never mind,” you sighed. “I’ll pick up the plates.” You picked up all the plates and took them to the kitchen. Jesse was right behind you with the chopsticks and began to gather the pots and pans. “Hey, guys—have you heard anything on the proposal yet?”

“Not yet,” Hanzo grunted. “I have been reassured that we will hear soon.” He shrugged as he wiped clean one of his massive and expensive kitchen knives. “Mercy has already been interviewed and has approved the proposal as a necessary addition to Overwatch.”

“That was two weeks ago,” Jesse grumbled.

“It was the last I heard,” Hanzo nodded. “If I do not hear anything within another week, I will see if Genji can find something out.” He frowned. “It seems to be a bit unusual that it is taking this long—especially since we have already had Mercy and the commander’s approval.”

Jesse growled something unintelligible, but was likely rude, crude and probably impolite. “Why can’t anyone see that th’ longer that we wait, th’ more kids are screwed?”

You nodded, a savage look on your face. You finally had to put the plate you were rinsing down, because your hands were starting to shake. “Maybe I can ask someone else?”

Hanzo puffed out a breath. “Leave the dishes. Both of you come with me.”

You and Jesse were both scowling and stomping as you came back to the living room. With an elegant gesture, Hanzo had you both sit at his square coffee table and then disappeared again to the back of the apartment. You heard a pot being filled with water and then set on the burner.

“Get out o’ yer head,” Jesse sighed softly.

You frowned at him. “Hey...I’m fine.”

He blinked at you slightly. “Oh...yeah. Yer fine. I’m talkin’ ta me.” You snickered at that. “I get stuck in my head too.”

You were going to make some reply until you heard a soft, musical chime. Jesse’s face went from sour to surprised as you both heard Hanzo answer his communicator. His voice was quiet and solemn—barely a murmur in the almost silent apartment. Your hands clenched nervously, fists balling up and you saw Jesse’s rigid posture.

“It’s fine,” you whispered to him as he obviously tried to listen in as much as you were. “It’s nothing serious.”

“Ain’t never been a call this late that was good news,” Jesse whispered in return.

“Yeah,” you agreed softly. “But if it were that bad, then he’d be yelling.”

“Oh,” Jesse nodded thoughtfully.

The phone call was concluded and it seemed an eternity before Hanzo reappeared. He carried a black tray that was so heavily polished, it gleamed like a mirror. A small pot of hot water was on one side of the tray. In the middle of the tray was a brilliant white carafe with a stark black character on it and three small matching glasses the size of duck eggs, along with crisp white cloths. With an elegant grace, Hanzo set the tray down on the low coffee table and knelt gracefully on a third side.

It was like watching some slowly unfolding dance as he took the carafe and set it carefully in the boiling water. With ritualistic grace, he unfolded one of the cloths, wiped each of the little cups with it, and set one in front of each of you. He paused for a heavy breath and you both echoed him. The smell of sake filled your nose—even from you position across from him. After a moment, he took the carafe out, wiped it dry with a second cloth and then wrapped a third cloth around the base. Silently, he poured you and Jesse small measures of the potent drink and then set the carafe down. You were confused—three glasses but only two were filled?—until Jesse picked up the carafe. It looked ridiculously small in his huge, beefy hands but with a little of the grace of his companion, he poured Hanzo the same amount before setting down the carafe again.

Hanzo nodded in appreciation and took in another deep breath. “My friends,” he said solemnly. “I had not intended to do more than to try to distract you, but this has turned into a momentous occasion worthy of far more celebration.” He finally cracked a smile. “The commander called to tell me the news.”

You and Jesse both showed each other your crossed fingers on both your hands and you couldn’t breathe suddenly. Hanzo, eternally calm and peaceful, rolled his eyes and continued. “There has been a four and a half hour meeting regarding our proposal. At first, it was rejected—.”

“What?!” Jesse bellowed, slamming his fist down on the table. You jumped and were distantly scared that the table would break.

Hanzo only held up his hand. “It was originally going to be rejected because of the accusations from the Nassar Act—.”

“Mercy said those were removed!” Your voice echoed Jesse’s bellow. “They were completely unfounded.”

“Indeed,” Hanzo nodded regally towards you. “It seems that Talon became aware of the proposal for a special task force and decided to stop it. When you were injured, it was seen as an opportunity and the records were tampered with to make it seem like there were cause to suspect me since I was the original author of the proposal.

“It was a shot in the dark that paid off.” He waved at you eloquently. “We had no way of knowing—nor was it on any of your records—about your past. When you...reacted that way, it seemed to make sense that there were problems.

“Unfortunately,” he smiled in a cold and calculating way that gave you chills. “They did not count on Mercy and Genji. Mercy cleared the record, assuming it was simply a matter of bad data entry. It was Genji who suspected the tampering and began to investigate further—especially when the accusations reappeared.

“The reason that the proposal was taking so long was because Mercy and Genji were both doing their investigations. Mercy has only now gone home after talking with the board for over four hours, trying to give Genji time to get proof and get back to the meeting.”

Hanzo raised his cup. “Genji did make it in time and presented his proof. The tampering was seen as a final, desperate act of those who did not want a special task force formed. He added his statements and the task force has been conditionally formed.”

You both fumbled to raise your tiny cups with overjoyed smiles. You all took a small sip, enjoying the fine wine. Then you asked softly, “What was the condition?”

Hanzo cleared his throat. “The condition was that you were to be named the head of the task force.” He waved at Jesse and himself. “We were considered mission critical for the next few months, and...somehow, your name was mentioned as the head of the task force.” He smiled slyly in satisfaction and nodded. “Congratulations, Senior Taskforce Leader.”

You sputtered and coughed nervously. “What? Who in their right mind would even suggest me?”

Jesse coughed, blushed and muttered, “Err...I did. I saw yer enthusiasm ‘n’ how much ya wanted to make th’ world right, so I...kinda changed th’ documents to put yer name up there.”

Hanzo looked bemused at the gunslinger. “That is odd. I suggested it just this morning to each of the commanders.” He shrugged. “They were highly agreeable, especially since one of them did pull up the trial information.” You squirmed in embarrassment. “Because of your bravery in coming forward to report him and then to offer evidence during the trial, your excellent service to Overwatch, and your work on the proposal itself during your...unfortunate medical leave, they were very receptive to the idea.”

Hanzo looked up at you cautiously. “As an aside, the judge who treated you and the other girl so shamefully during the trial was later disbarred quietly. He will not be able to humiliate anyone else like that again.”

“So I didn’ need ta change th’ paperwork?” Jesse asked. “Well...next time tell me beforehand and—.” Yours and Hanzo’s eyes were wide and curious, waiting for him to finish. “Ehh...nothin’. Don’t mind me.”

You all burst out laughing and took another sip. Senior Taskforce Leader—who would have thought a scared girl like you would be here? And you could totally make a difference—stop all the Randolf Connors of the world.

The evening flew by as Hanzo kept giving out details and you all sipped your drinks. There was to be a new area for your team, dedicated professionals who could track down pornographers, traffickers, and hustlers. You would have access to mental health professionals and counselors to assist the people you rescued. On and on and on until your mind was swirling as much with the details as with the drink.

You were feeling joyful and giggly as you sipped your drink. The Senior Taskforce Leader position was...that was so far beyond what you ever expected. It was up there in the leadership—the kind of thing that you could really make your own and really make a difference. And both of the Elites had recommended you for the position! It was something you could retire from with a wall full of accolades and good stories and the knowledge of a job well-done. What a step up from being a mere support agent!

“Yer positively glowin’, darlin’,” Jesse smirked over his cup. You sputtered a little, suddenly a bit shy and he shrugged. “It’s jus’ good ta see it, darlin’.”

“It’s the alcohol,” you muttered into your cup.

“I was hoping it was because you were proud of yourself,” Hanzo added evenly.

You blinked at him owlishly. What was this feeling? It was light and was not at all urgent and felt like it was bubbling up like soda. You didn’t have a really good name for this feeling at the moment, but you wanted it to last forever.

“Have a lil’ more o-sake,” Jesse suggested, picking up the carafe.

“No,” Hanzo snorted. “One is enough.” He looked at you seriously, although the tendrils of hair that escaped his topknot gave him a rather charmingly messy look. “I do not mean that you are not free to have more, but, given the circumstances, I do not want you to feel pressured into anything you do not want to do.” 

You nodded with what you hoped was an appropriately solemn expression. It was a warm, comforting feeling to have Hanzo looking out for you. This was a level of security that you had not felt since before you had met Connor. “I...I do not feel pressured...now.”

Hanzo almost closed an eye and raised an eyebrow in what could only be a comically speculative look as a half smile crossed his face. “If you do not feel pressured or uncomfortable, then, please, have a bit more.”

Jesse gave you a tiny splash—maybe enough to fill a thimble—and you sipped it. Cocking your head, “This is really good.”

Hanzo snorted, “You sound surprised.”

“I—I am. I haven’t ever had anything this...smooth and delicious.”

The archer smiled widely at you. “At least one of you is properly appreciative of the drink.” He looked at the cowboy. “It would do you good to follow her example.”

“Oh, darlin’,” Jesse snorted. “Ya love me ex-actly as I am.”

Everyone was silent for a beat and then you all burst out laughing. Jesse actually let out a deep belly laugh and almost fell over backwards, which made you laugh even harder. Tears were in your eyes as he actually did fall with a heavy thump.

Hanzo recovered first. “I will take these to the kitchen before I find a spur stuck in one.”

You nodded and giggled again. “Is he really wearing spurs?”

Jesse giggled. “Sure I am, darlin’.”

Hanzo gathered up the ceramics. “And it would not be the first time that I have found a spur like that. Why do you think I only have one tokkuri?”

You sighed happily and tried to stand up, only to fall yourself. Jesse let out another belly laugh and leaned back on his elbows.

“Ya should take a minute an’ get yer head together,” Jesse hooted. He made a face so strange that it was comical. “Or else I might have ta carry ya home.”

“You cannot stand yourself,” Hanzo grunted.

“An’ yer jus’ stone cold sober, huh, darlin’?” Without waiting for an answer, Jesse began patting the furniture until he managed to find a remote. “How ‘bout a movie ‘til we can walk?”

You head bobbed. A movie sounded great, and you wouldn’t have to actually have to weave your way home immediately. And with the boneless way that Jesse flopped around, you really weren’t sure that you wouldn’t need to walk Jesse home.

Or not—given the smirk from the archer.

At any rate, you were smushed on the couch between them. Hanzo wanted to watch a nature special on ocean life. Jesse found a shoot-em-up action movie with dizzying car chase scenes. They bickered over the channels until you grabbed the remote and set it to a stand-up comedy special. If you had been laughing before, you were rolling now. Hanzo laughed so hard that he was holding his sides. Jesse had tears streaming down his tanned cheeks. You were flopped between them, sniffing as the comedian kept spinning out jokes.

As soon as the lights went down on the comedian, Jesse grabbed the remote. It was a smooth piece of electronics—spare and elegant—and it flew out of his meaty hands almost as soon as he got it. Hanzo caught it and changed the channel.

A rather interesting cooking show was next—a celebrity chef was judging how the two cooks were managing their inept staffs as they produced a range of dishes. One cook was trying to do a steak with sliced, baked potatoes with a tangy coleslaw. The other was doing a lightly flavored chicken dish with white wine and tarragon. The first cook’s assistant torched the steak, causing a small fire. The second cook dropped his bottle of wine, almost causing the celebrity chef to fall. By the end of the hour, Jesse and Hanzo were cheering for the steak and potatoes and you were cheering for the chicken.

There was apparently a marathon, because the next thing on was another episode. The dishes were a delicately prepared barbecued tofu and a grilled pepper hummus stuffed portobello mushroom cap. There was plenty of drama—the grill caught on fire and the tofu seemed to look like a ketchup smeared cake of soap. The hummus looked vaguely edible—but when it was spooned into the mushroom cap it looked like evidence from a crime scene.

By the time the second episode was done, everyone was hooked. Hanzo brought out tall glasses of fizzy water with lemon slices in them, along with some Japanese chocolate-dipped cookie sticks. You were sprawled half on Jesse, munching on the sweets, as the new cooks were introduced and Hanzo lounged on your other side. Gradually, you relaxed more and more, as you basked in the glow of your promotion.


	10. Chapter 10

The next morning, you realized you very warm and very comfortable. Except for the lump under your thigh, you were comfortable enough to go back to sleep. You wriggled a little—tried to move the lump to a more comfortable place—and you felt your pillow grunt and shift.

“Now, darlin’, it’s too early ta be gettin’ up,” Jesse muttered.

Your eyes popped open and you saw the tastefully decorated living room. You were stretched out half-way across the couch and half-way across the massive cowboy. Hanzo was sprawled with his back against the couch, his careful hairstyle halfway down his cheek with dark tendrils flowing down his shoulders.

Except for the lump poking your thigh, you were completely comfortable and you could close your eyes and sleep for another hour at least. You reached down to gently push it aside and heard...Jesse purr.

What?!

The big man slouched even more with a grin on his face as he went back to sleep. “That’s a nice way ta wake up, darlin’.”

Oh—so that’s what that was.

You paused for a moment, your wits remarkably clear for having been up half the night. Were you...opposed to waking up this way? You were about to do something, to say something or to move, when you saw the archer stretch and crack open a dark eye to look at you.

Hanzo grinned and stiffly stood. With a steady movement, he scooped you up and helped you to the huge bedroom. “Sleep late,” was all he said as he pointed towards the immaculately made bed, and then closed the door as he left.

That sounded amazing and you crawled underneath the blue coverlet and went back to sleep. Hours later, you were refreshed and woke quite naturally. Sunlight filtered through the creamy colored fabric shades. You could appreciate the fine ink drawing of cranes that was framed on one wall and a painting of a samurai with sharp swords on the other. On one of the dark bedside tables was a small, desktop fountain and water dripped over glassy smooth dark rocks set on top of a bed of brilliant white rocks. A small brass dragon held a stick of sweet smelling incense.

Standing up, you wandered back through the apartment. Here and there were small ink drawings or scrolls with sutras written on them. In the bathroom was a china dragon. In the kitchen were the carefully arranged deadly sharp knives.

In the living room, you were amused to see Jesse still sprawled on top of the couch and snoring. Hanzo was tucked between his legs, equally sprawled out with his head on the big man’s chest. His long hair was completely down, drifting down the massive man’s hairy chest. At least Jesse had kicked off his boots and spurs.

Without a better plan, you started a kettle of hot water and began putting dishes from the dishwasher back in the cabinets. The saki set you knew—just from looking at the beautiful translucent ceramic—had to be washed by hand, but everything else went into the washer. You sets some eggs on to boil and began toasting some bread.

“It is most pleasant to wake to a warm breakfast,” Hanzo whispered behind you. “But you do not need to do this.”

You looked over your shoulder at the scruffy archer. “It will be ready soon. Tea’s going to be ready in a minute.”

“Darlin’,” Jesse whined sleepily from the couch. “Ya comin’ back?”

You glanced over at the cowboy. “Breakfast will be ready in a minute.”

“It is late in the morning, cow man. Get up.”

Jesse stood up and scratched his chest sleepily. “Y’all are sure nice ta sleep with.”

“Jesse!”

“Aww, shucks. I didn’t mean nothin’—just that it’s nice ta sleep so well.” He flushed and looked at you. “I didn’t mean ta make ya uncomfortable or nothin’.”

You nodded and set out slices of toast. Hanzo poured out the hot water to start tea steeping and set out the cups. Jesse only staggered to a chair and put his face in his hands.

“Jesse is not what you would call a morning person,” Hanzo explained. “Despite my efforts to help him learn discipline, I have not yet managed to get him up and...awake before 11 or 12.”

“Oh,” you nodded.

Hanzo sat down at the table. “However, you will never find a better man to stay up with you. Our stake-outs are very successful because he can literally be up until sunrise and remain sharp and focused.”

“Is there coffee?” Jesse muttered sourly.

“Just tea,” you replied with amusement as he scratched his beard and then down his throat to his chest.

“I guess it’ll do,” the cowboy grunted as he picked up a mug and slugged it back. Hanzo sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. “It’s not bad, but ya need some real coffee.”

“There are eggs and toast,” Hanzo added, smirking as Jesse took some of both almost without looking.

Finally, Jesse seemed awake enough to open both eyes. He looked at both of you with soft puppy-dog eyes. “Did I do somethin’ weird?”

“No,” you replied in confusion.

“Good. I’d hate ta think I’d made things all weird.” He slugged back some more tea. “I mean—we all had a good time and I don’ wanna mess it up.” Peeling an egg, he nodded, “As long as I didn’ mess it up.”

“No—you didn’t.” You cocked your head slightly. “Aside from...err, this morning.”

Jesse groaned and turned cherry red. “What’d I do?”

It was amusing to see the big man squirming in embarrassment. “You were plenty happy to see...someone this morning.”

Hanzo chuckled and nodded knowingly. “That does happen.”

Jesse groaned again.


	11. Chapter 11

A week passed quickly as you got engulfed in the new proposal and your new role in Overwatch. You were lucky that Hanzo and Jesse were keeping up with the rotation of meals. You were equally lucky that you all shared a passion for that cooking show, too—it was the one time you were able to really relax during the evenings.

The next weekend you were on point to fix dinner. Lacking inspiration—you had already fixed fettuccini Alfredo and spaghetti, Hanzo had offered up a delicious teriyaki steak with vegetables and Jesse had served up a smoked brisket—you decided to fix hamburgers and French fries.

Jesse arrived first with a bottle of whiskey. “Han’s gonna be right behind me,” he promised. “It’s been a hella bad mission.”

You made the right noises, sympathetic to the dings and bangs of missions gone bad. The burgers were ready, along with the fries and a few snacks for when you all watched your show.

Hanzo staggered in a bit later, weary and glad to be home. Even Jesse was quiet as you put out the burgers and the small plate of toppings and the bottles of mustard and ketchup. Jesse poured himself some whiskey over the rocks and, looking knowingly at the archer, he passed it to him.

“My thanks,” Hanzo muttered.

“Hella bad mission,” Jesse grunted again as he drank all of his whiskey. Without saying a word, Hanzo handed him the bottle again. “Hate it when missions go bad.”

“What happened fellas?” You were curious, of course.

Jesse cursed fluently. “Talon bastards. They got some nerve—hidin’ behind a school bus like that.” You cursed softly in return. “Got all the kids out, but...but it was bad. Steven and Jose went down trying to get th’ teacher out. They were both air lifted ta th’ hospital. Nancy was buyin’ ‘em time tryin’ ta negotiate. She barely made it out ‘n’ she’s gonna be laid up for a month.”

Your eyes screwed shut. Steven was a good man who you had seen often at the rifle range. Jose was another of Hanzo’s mentees. “Damn it.”

Hanzo nodded in agreement. “The Talon scum were not willing to face us as honorable men. They hid behind the school children. Our support agents tried to surround them—to flank them—but they....” He swallowed heavily, finishing his whiskey. “I do not have words for it....”

Everyone nodded. It was terrible, but a fact of Overwatch life that the bad guys would do anything to win. You sighed, looking at the table. “I’m so sorry, guys.”

You all went to the couch and turned on the show. Jesse poured everyone more whiskey, too upset to say much. You were in the middle of the couch, but both of them were cramming themselves in the corner. Neither of them were even watching the celebrity chef.

At the commercial break, you went to get the chopped vegetables and dip. When you brought the plate and cup of dip to the couch, you saw Hanzo stretching painfully and rubbing his neck and shoulders. Jesse had kicked off his boots and hat and was staring at nothing, scratching his head and beard. Poor them—you went to the bathroom and pulled out the tub of muscle cream that Hanzo had recommended to you.

“Hey guys,” you whispered. “I’ve got snacks and some muscle cream.”

“Do Han first,” Jesse muttered. “I jus’ wanna drink.”

You set the vegetables with the dip in front of them and were not surprised that they ignored it entirely. So, you went to Hanzo and showed him the cream. He only nodded wearily and pushed off his top so that you could reach his back. The livid bruises and scrapes were a familiar sight—you had been knocked around often enough—but it was still sickening. You began rubbing the smelly stuff into his skin. He sighed in relief as you massaged it in and you tempted him to relax.

At the next commercial break, you switched to Jesse, needling him and tugging his cotton shirt, his armor, serape and bandana off of him until you could get to his back. He was a little better off, but only because of his armor. He grunted as you began kneading his muscles. “Darlin’, yer a long, tall glass o’ water today.”

You giggled as you rubbed him. “I don’t have any idea what you said, but ‘thank you’.”

“Means exactly that,” he crooned. He drank another glass of whiskey as you worked at a knot in between his shoulder blades. “Means that God’s listenin’ ta a sinner like me ‘n’ sent one o’ his own angels.”

You flushed furiously as you worked his muscular back. But this did seem to be helping the big man as he drank down the amber liquid. Hanzo was also lounging more comfortably, sipping from his glass, and he had even let down his hair so that it flowed down around him. 

As you slipped out from behind the cowboy, the archer handed you your glass of the potent alcohol. You sipped and watched the show with them. Sometime over the weeks, as you all had worked so hard, you had grown increasingly comfortable with the two men, their casual flirtation and how pleasantly you fit into their relationship. There wasn’t ever anything forced, anything overt—and definitely nothing that, in your relaxed view, you objected to. In fact, you were feeling decidedly...pleased? Aroused? Something.

At the end, Jesse kicked back, leaning his torso against the back of the couch and smiled. “Told ya’ll th’ pork chops would win.”

Hanzo grunted sourly in good natured teasing, comfortable without his shirt on. “How they picked that over the miso shrimp, I will never comprehend.”

“Good taste, darlin’.”

“Which was noticeably absent.”

You laughed at the two of them. “You both need to simmer down. I recorded the episodes you missed because of the mission, so if you both will sit back, we can watch them.” You queued up the episode. “Stick around, Hanzo-san, we may yet see a good recipe to try.”

You all kept passing the bottle to refill each other’s glasses. It wasn’t long before you were feeling the warm glow in your bellies. The temper tantrums of the celebrity chef were starting to seem absolutely hilarious as he cursed, spitting and fuming and sweating. The guest cooks were even more funny as they burned the pizza crust and broke plates.

The bottle was empty and you were all laughing like crazy. Part of it was the after mission jitters—the terrible laughter because it was so crazy bad. Part of it was the profound relief that the three of you were still all in one piece. Part of it was the indomitable will of warriors who were determined to not let the disasters and chaos and bad stuff happen again.

Some of it was pure, ornery stubbornness not to be defeated.

It started with Jesse lounging against Hanzo as you slunk down to the floor, clutching your sides as the chef landed on his backside after slipping on a sponge soaked with milk. He leaned over, quite comfortably, and nuzzled Hanzo’s cheek gently before kissing him.

Hanzo smirked like a cat with cream and then pushed him a little. “Not fair, cow man.” He waved his finger. “You do not want to upset our hostess.”

Jesse stared at him drunkenly and then shrugged. With a grin on his face, he reached over and pulled you a bit closer. “Well, darlin’, I can’t leave ya out.”

And with that, he kissed your cheek. You were about to say something and he nuzzled you gently again. “Yer sweet as a Georgia peach, darlin’.” He kissed your cheek again and smiled. “Ya know, darlin’, it’s yer call, but I think ya would be jus’ beautiful on th’ bed. Jus’ beautiful.”

“Are you drunk? Don’t you have a home?” You smiled at him, flushed that he said you were beautiful. That warmed the blood in your veins and set your heart pattering far more than it should. “More importantly, don’t you have someone who might—I don’t know—explode with...jealousy or something?”

Jesse laughed. “Han’s not th’ type ta explode.”

Hanzo snorted behind you both. “Try me, cow man.”

McCree took the hint and leaned back to look at his lover. “Oh, darlin’, don’t take it out none on her. She cain’t help bein’ so beautiful.”

You sighed in exasperation. “You’re truly drunk, cow man.” Standing, you took the empty cups to the kitchen. “Maybe you should go...wherever it is you should go.” You took one more look at him and the archer. “Actually...you both should stay here. I don’t want you both getting lost or anything weird.”

With that, you went into the kitchen. When you walked back, you saw them both slouching together on the floor in front of your couch. The cowboy’s flesh hand was tangled in the archer’s long hair, pulling him closer as they kissed and his metal hand gripped the other man’s knee. The archer’s cheeks were flushed and you heard a soft growl in his chest. McCree leaned closer, his hand gently caressing.

Warm feelings pooled between your legs as you watched them. It was pretty erotic, watching as Hanzo’s hand slid to the heavy denim jeans and stroked the big lump that was growing in McCree’s lap. Your hand traced your lips as the archer licked his own lips hungrily and your hand couldn’t help but reach between your legs.

The cowboy’s legs kicked out wide with a grin. He let out a husky whine and whispered, “Ya feel like heaven, darlin’.”

You shifted or something, catching both their gazes. Flushing again, you realized that they were watching your hand between your legs. Even more, you were suddenly aware of the bit of wetness there.

Hanzo’s eyes went wide and his cheeks went tomato red. “I...I.... There are no words for how—.”

“Darlin’,” Jesse whispered, his tanned cheeks darkly flushed.

In a dizzy way, it all clicked for you though. With a slow grin, you strutted over to the men, rolling your hips and smiling and sitting down between the two massively muscular men. “Well...were you all waiting for me?”

Jesse grinned wickedly, but Hanzo protested, “This...this was a mistake. We did not mean to pressure you—.”

“Pressure me?” You smiled at them. “Or pleasure me?” They were both shocked as you smiled at them both. With one hand, you stroked the cowboy’s broad shoulder and with the other, you caressed the archer’s knee. With a pout, you added, “So do I need an invitation or can anyone join?”


	12. Chapter 12

Jesse latched on to your mouth with a chaste kiss. Looking deep into your eyes, he whispered, “Ya can back out anytime, ya know.”

You nodded dizzily. Hanzo’s hands were rubbing your shoulders lightly. Then he whispered, “Anything that you do not agree to, you can back away from. Tell us, and we will leave you alone.”

You looked over your shoulder at the Japanese man. His almond eyes were coffee dark and the pupils were wide with arousal. The soft smile that you had only imagined before made you feel such a bubbly high. “I.... If you take it slow, I want to...to try.”

Jesse leaned over to you, stroking your hair with gentle fingers. “Yer a brave lil’ thing, ain’t ya?” He gave you another chaste kiss. “Ta survive all that stuff, ‘n’ still be willin’ ta trust us.” He sighed, kissing your forehead. “We’ll take it slower than molasses in January.”

Hanzo laughed softly in your ear. “At least I know what that weird saying means.” He pressed a kiss between your shoulders. “Yes, we will be slow for you. Tell us what you like, what you do not, and we will listen.”

You nodded as both men gingerly crept closer to you. Hanzo stroked your back, slowly going up and down until he had convinced himself that you were okay with this. Jesse stripped off your house slippers and socks and began rubbing your feet.

Jesse smirked as you sighed in pleasure. “Han’s real good wit’ his hands. He’s got a magic touch.” He cocked his head with a smile. “He can make ya feel real good.”

“Jesse does me too much honor,” Hanzo whispered behind you. “He is...gifted with his mouth and body.”

“I suppose you would know,” you chuckled softly.

“Indeed. I enjoy both of them very much.”

You paused to think for a moment. “Is this...going to cause problems for you two?”

The men looked at each other for a moment. Jesse spoke first. “We done talked ‘bout it. I’m open ta whatever ya both wanna do.” He looked over your shoulder. “What ‘bout ya, Han?”

“I, too, will bow to your wishes,” Hanzo nodded. His hands went back to rubbing your shoulders. “I am devoted to Jesse, but if you truly wish to join us, then I will happily welcome you.”

You thought about it. Yes, both of them, you decided. They were both honorable men who you knew would make every effort to take care of you. You nodded. “I would like to join you both.”

Jesse’s grin went wide enough to cover his face. “Well, we’re plumb honored, ain’t we, Han?”

“Indeed.” Hanzo smirked—you could hear it in his rough voice. “How do you wish to begin? Do you wish some time to prepare? Or for us to help you get ready?” He paused for a moment. “Do you wish to have a safeword—something to tell us to stop?”

“Slow down, Han,” Jesse cooed with a smile. “She’s just gettin’ ta thinkin’ ‘bout yer first question ‘n’ ya done asked her two more.”

“I want a...safeword,” you murmured. “How about...uhh... ‘galaxy’?”

“That’s jus’ fine, darlin’,” Jesse nodded. “If’n we hear ‘galaxy’, we’re gonna stop ever’thin’ ‘n’ back off.”

“Can I take a quick shower first?” You looked up at them. “I probably reek.”

“Would you like one of us to bathe you?” Hanzo asked seriously.

“Uhh...not this time?” You blushed. “Just want to get cleaned up again.”

You wasted no time getting to the shower. It was your chance to grab some clean undies—matching bra and lacy panties instead of the worn and sloppy ones you had grabbed. Also the shower felt good and you had a chance to get some berry lip gloss rubbed across your lips as your sole concession to makeup.

You came back in and saw both men sitting in front of your couch, still with their shirts off. It was a beautiful sight to see both men—satisfied smiles and beautiful aroused eyes watching you and gorgeous chests exposed. It was even more arousing to see almost matching lumps in both their laps.

“Yer just beautiful,” Jesse smiled at you. “That’s purely beautiful stuff yer wearing.”

“Indeed,” Hanzo agreed. “You are truly lovely.”

You crept closer to them. Settling between them, you faced the cowboy again. “What do you recommend, ‘cow man’?”

He grinned. “Ya know, that ain’t much o’ an endearment, but I think I’m gettin’ riled up hearin’ it from ya.” He spread his legs and arms wide, lounging back. “How ‘bout ya start, darlin’? I’ll just sit here and ya figure out which parts o’ me ya like.”

That sounded...erotically right. Moving to your hands and knees, you stroked his chest and buried your fingers in the crisp brown hair covering it. He gasped as your timid fingers ran over his pecs and stroked his flat, brown nipples. “Is...is this right?” you asked softly, looking up at his face.

“Darlin’, yer a house afire,” he sighed with a smile. “It’s right if’n ya tell me yer happy ta do it.”

You kept stroking his chest up and down, exploring the tanned skin. There were a few puckered lines, here and there—small scars of who knows what—but he was all broad muscle and rough hair. He kept smiling as your fingertips traced his muscles and his arms and then put a small, chaste kiss on his chest.

“Am I to be neglected?” Hanzo whispered behind you with a soft snicker.

You blushed and glanced at him. He was just as relaxed as you left Jesse to creep over to him. His chest was broad as well—taut with muscle—and covered with smooth, creamy skin. You traced your hands up and down him and while he did not seem to respond to your timid stroking of his nipples, he did gasp as you stroked his neck and again when you traced down his tattoo.

How interesting—that they were both so different and yet both so beautiful and arousing.

You went back and forth for a bit, stroking one and then the other in turns. Neither of them stirred from their spots on the floor as you kept touching them. It was a feeling of safety that you had not let yourself feel in a long, long time. And that feeling of safety made the hot feeling in your belly grow.

“Darlin’,” Jesse rasped. He shivered as you stroked across both nipples a last time before turning back to Hanzo. “If’n yer okay with it, could we start touchin’ ya too?”

You nodded absently, busily tracing Hanzo’s carefully sculpted arms. A timid finger went to your waist and waited there. Looking over your shoulder, you saw Jesse and nodded at him before returning your interest to Hanzo. Ever so slowly, the warmth on your back grew as Jesse added fingertips and then his palm to your back. You gasped with a small shudder as he gently caressed your skin.

Hanzo’s hands moved slowly to your knees, palming them gently before wandering down to your calves. “I would assume that I, too, have permission?” he asked in a low, husky voice. You nodded and his hands went to yours and brought them up between you. “You have...beautiful hands.” He paused, looking into your eyes carefully and then kissed the tip of one of your fingers. “I have enjoyed looking at them.”

Your eyes went wide, even as Jesse’s hands came creeping around your belly. “Y-y-you have?”

He nodded. “It was not entirely...altruistic that I wished to look at your hands after every practice.”

“Oh.” You looked up at him. “I...didn’t know it was that.”

Jesse snickered behind you. “Han’s always playin’ his cards close ta his chest, darlin’.”

You were going to make some comment, but Jesse put a slow kiss on your shoulder. You stopped to look at him as he licked your skin, only to have Hanzo come up to your other shoulder. Their hands stayed somewhat distant and you could see that they had somehow worked it so that even though you were almost sandwiched between their hot bodies, there was a wide open space to one side that you could easily duck out through.

Not that you really wanted to.

Hanzo took your shuddering sigh as encouragement and traced from your shoulder up your neck to your cheek. He paused and whispered, “You are as sweet to touch as you are to look at,” before he kissed the very corner of your mouth.

Jesse snorted softly and with his human hand mussed your hair until it was free and rumpled, massaging your scalp gently. That was good because you were crumpling from the overwhelming heat as Hanzo’s soft lips drifted to nibble your ear. Your head sank back into Jesse’s hand with relief.

Jesse chuckled as Hanzo broke off from your ear and went back down your throat. “Hey, Han....we might wanna stop fer a moment or two.”

Hanzo’s eyes flashed with something that was not quite annoyance. “Why?” He stopped suddenly, though, and looked at you seriously. “Was I too impatient? Are you displeased?”

You were, unfortunately, as confused by the sudden halt as the archer was. “N-n-no. It’s...fabulous.” You rolled your head in the cowboy’s palm. “What’s going on?”

Jesse grinned and kissed his mechanical thumb before touching it to your nose. “Darlin’, there’s nothing wrong. Jus’ thought that if’n ya wanted ta...go all th’ way, we might want some protection.” He shrugged and a dark red color stained his cheeks. “I’m just plumb flat out of it.”

“Ahh,” Hanzo nodded. “My apartment is closer. I will step out.” He flashed a surprisingly easy and wicked smile and winked at you. “Do not do anything that I would not do.”

“That leaves us all kinds o’ possibilities, darlin’,” Jesse replied cheekily.

The Japanese man laughed softly and warmly. “Yes, I suppose it does.” He stood and grabbed his shoes. “I will be back quickly.”

Jesse kept massaging your scalp as the other man left. “I’m sorry ta interrupt, but we need ta be careful.” His metal palm skimmed your shoulder, tracing the lacy bra strap. “I’m purely sorry.”

You smiled lazily up at him. “Don’t be. I’m glad that you thought of it.”

“Well, all righty,” Jesse smirked back. He cocked his head thoughtfully. “Is there anythin’ ya wanna ask for? Anythin’ ya really like?” He shrugged with a wide smile. “We aim ta please.”

You closed your eyes for a moment. It felt good to be cradled like this, and thinking was becoming somewhat difficult. “I don’t know, I guess. Never really thought about it.” You cracked open an eye. “What do you recommend?”

Jesse laughed. “Ya make it sound like I’m tellin’ ya ‘bout the catch o’ th’ day or some fancy wine.” He shrugged. “There’s lots ta kissin’ an’ huggin’ an’ such. That’s a real nice place ta start.” He winked. “Though, ya need ta be able ta tell Han what ya like.”

“Why?” Your eyes popped open with curiosity at some inflection in his tone.

He laughed again. “‘Cause, darlin’, Han is a real kinky guy.”

“What?!” you gasped. Hanzo was absolutely the last man you would have pegged for having any kinks at all. Him with Jesse was mind blowing by itself. “Oh, come on ‘cow man’. You have to spill!”

“Or what?” he challenged you.

You flipped over and began tickling his ribs. That ripped a snorting laughter from the man as he flopped and rolled on the carpet. “Darlin’! Darlin’! Uncle! I’ll talk! I’ll talk!”


	13. Chapter 13

You sat back, amused at the puppy dog look on his face. “So, Han’s really kinky.” He shrugged with a grin that told you he really didn’t mind in the slightest. “He’s been all kinds o’ places, seen all kinds o’ things, an’ apparently his...well, his family dealt with running whores. Ran real classy whore houses and they catered ta all kinds o’ tastes.”

He laid back down on the carpet, looking up at you with a silly grin on his face. “There’s kinbaku—which means he gets out lotsa ropes. He’s got a whole collection o’ toys—all o’ them vibrating and wiggling thingies in all kinds o’ colors. Even got some leather bits—includin’ one that looks like a horse halter with a bit ‘n’ everythin’.” He smiled as your mouth hung open in shock. “Told ya...he’s inta some weird stuff.” He shrugged innocently. “Once he even had some eat-able undies and he’s brought out some collars an’ leashes.”

Your face went completely pale. Suddenly you shuddered and all of the bubbly excitement went flat and sank into a lead ball in your stomach. You flinched backward and crawled backwards a bit. “I-I-I...I had no idea.”

Jesse’s smile faded and he rolled to his shoulder. “Darlin’—ya look like ya gonna choke. What’s wrong?” He scratched his head for a moment and understanding dawned. “Aw, hell, yer afraid now.” He sighed, scowling at himself. “An’ yer scared o’ Han ‘n’ all his baggage.”

Tears went down your cheeks and you were suddenly frozen cold. “I-I-I h-h-had no idea!”

Jesse sat up and fumbled to wrap you in his oversized shirt. “Darlin’...it’s not that bad. He ain’t gonna do none o’ that with ya. He ain’t gonna do none o’ that—not now and not ever—‘til ya tell him it’s okay.” He rubbed a huge hand over his flushed and scruffy face. “He’s gonna kill me fer scarin’ ya like this.” Gingerly reaching for your hand, he held it gently. “Look...can I tell ya a secret?”

You shuddered but nodded. The bristly man couldn’t possibly scare you any more than he already had.

“Now, ya gotta keep this under yer hat.” Jesse’s brown eyes were serious and thoughtful, without a trace of his usual charm or gaiety. “Th’ thing is that—Hanzo likes those things, but only if he’s on th’ receivin’ end.”

“What?!” Your voice cracked shrilly, echoing through your tears. “What...what are you saying?”

Jesse nodded slowly. “Darlin’—it’s not somethin’ that he wants everyone ta know.” He cocked his head slowly. “He’s powerful proud, too, darlin’. He couldn’t bear it if’n anyone were ta know.” He sighed. “It’s somethin’ ta do wit’ his father. His father liked ta beat him ‘n’ Genji—over ‘n’ over—fer just ‘bout anythin’.

“It’s how he’s so good wit’ all o’ it. His dad taught him th’ hard way ‘bout beatin’ an’ stuff. Th’ old bastard knew his stuff—didn’ leave a mark on Han but it did mess wit’ him on th’ inside. Tore him up ‘n’ messed his head ‘n’ heart up like a tornado in a prairie trailer park.

“It got ta where he started ta like it, that he started ta want th’ pain ‘n’ punishment. It’s like it’s somehow a way ta prove his strength. He craves it like a babe in a toy store an’ he don’ know how ta handle it. He’s scared that anyone else ain’t gonna understand—that they’re gonna think he’s weak—.”

Tears flowed down your cheeks. “But he’s not. He’s not weak.”

Jesse nodded. “I know that. You know that. But he don’t know it—not deep down where it counts. He thinks that he ain’t got nothin’ ahead o’ him. Ya know that his darlin’ family sent him out ta kill Genji?” You gasped. “That ain’t even th’ least o’ what they did. He spent ten years tryin’ ta forgive himself ‘n’ even when Genji got ta him ‘n’ forgave him, he didn’t forgive himself. Started punishin’ himself.”

“D-d-don’t tell me any more, Jesse,” you whispered, your eyes rolling shut. “I don’t w-w-want to think about anyone hurting him.”

He sighed, offering you a red and white checked handkerchief. “Han’s actually scared that he’s gonna hurt ya.” He blushed. “He’s not gonna bring out a single thing—not ‘til ya tell him that’s what ya like. He’s not gonna do nothin’ ta ya that ya don’ want.” He shrugged. “He remembers bein’ helpless an’ hurt, an’ he’s absolutely not gonna make anyone else feel that way.” You nodded, feeling a bit better. “If ya like somethin’ like that—he’s a good guy ta go to. He’s got some experience in all kinds o’ stuff, and he’s inta receivin’ it—not dishin’ it out.”

“A-a-and what about you?” you asked softly. “How do you fit into this?”

“Well...when Han an’ I, errr, got started, it was a bit touchy,” Jesse blushed. “He didn’ know how ta talk none ‘bout it. When I got too close, he backed off real quick like.” The cowboy smiled. “When he got mad an’ tried ta stomp out, I lassoed him.” You giggled and he shrugged and chuckled with a blush on his cheeks. “I didn’ know what else ta do. That got him all quiet like, ‘n’ he opened up ta me.

“I’m not gonna tell ya wrong—I got a bit scared. A lot scared. I tol’ him that I didn’ know none of that stuff. But he went all kitten soft ‘n’ I told him I’d try, but that I might not be good fer it all. So I try ta help him out, try different stuff, ‘n’ I keep his secrets.” Jesse cocked his head again. “But ya need ta know him, too, so ya don’t get scared off like I did.”

You smiled slightly. It was hard to think of Jesse being scared of anything. “But...I don’t know if I can handle the weird stuff. I’m shot just dealing with the normal stuff.”

“I know, baby. I know,” Jesse crooned. “I know yer startin’ out just as sideways as he did. I know yer afraid at times.” He sat up and gently stroked your hair back from your face. “I didn’ mean ta scare ya none, but I wanted ta tell ya ta speak up if’n ya wanna. If’n ya need ta, ya can speak to either o’ us or both o’ us. If’n yer curious, ya can tell us, too, an’ ya don’ need ta worry ‘bout makin’ us uncomfortable or nothin’.”

You were nodding as he finished. “I...I can’t handle all the leather and whips just yet, cowboy.”

“I know,” he nodded. “We’re gonna jus’ take it slow ‘n’ do just what ya want.” He very slowly leaned forward to kiss your cheek. “Slow ‘n’ jus’ what ya want ‘n’ nothin’ else.”

You smiled at his gentle kiss. “I can learn—but I’m just a beginner.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “We all start somewhere. An’ kissin’ an’ touchin’—ain’t nothin’ wrong with th’ basics.” He leaned back on his elbows again. “I’m all fer jus’ doin’ th’ basics, too.” He waved. “An’ ya liked that, I thought.”

You nodded. “I did.” Your cheeks flushed. “It was...hot.”

“So, we jus’ do that,” he agreed. “Jus’ touchin’ an’ kissin’. You say ‘galaxy’—an’ we stop.” He shrugged with an embarrassed smile. “I thought that in case we’re goin’ all th’ way, we’d need some protection. I love sprouts runnin’ around as much as any man, but I don’ want any lil’ surprises ruinin’ anyone’s future.” He winked wickedly. “I mean...I guess I wanna know yer on board before somethin’ like that happens. So I stopped us. Ya got th’ same rights, ya know—ta just stop an’ back up.”

You nodded. “That’s sweet of you, Jesse.”

There was a knock on the door right then. You went and looked through the peephole to see a distorted picture of the bare chested archer looking around, over his shoulder and in every direction with a large box under this muscular arm. You giggled—you had no idea what you would have done if it had been someone else—and you opened the door.

Hanzo let out a breath in relief and came in. “I returned as quickly as I could.” His cheeks flushed a dusky pink. “I had to go a bit out of the way because I saw Mercy coming through.”

He handed you the box and you were glad that Jesse had talked to you. The plain white box had clear, black type saying “EXXXtra Fun Asst Condoms - 100 pcs” and you were torn between shock and curiosity. You decided to go for curiosity and opened the top. A myriad of colored plastic packets peeked back at you. You picked up a bright metallic blue one up and read the silver writing—“Blue Raspberry Flvr Xtra Rib Reservoir Tip”.

Well, that was...unexpected.

Jesse was sitting up, smirking at your reaction. Hanzo stood stiffly and with—and you finally had a name for it—wounded pride. The Japanese man looked at Jesse and then at you again. “Is something wrong?”

Jesse said nothing, only smiled and gestured towards you. “Nope. I’m cool as a cucumber.”

You cocked your head, briefly wondering if the red shiny package was strawberry or cherry flavored, and then again at the archer. Now that you could name what you were seeing, you could see how wounded and sensitive he was. It was his vulnerability and he was terribly proud and wary about it. You instinctively knew he would be wounded faster and deeper by a single flinch or word from you than anything else.

“I’m...I’m just learning,” you blushed. “There...is so much that I don’t...really know.”

His eyes narrowed a bit as though he was weighing the truth in your words. “If you have questions,” he offered slowly. “Please, ask them.”

“Can we go slow?” you asked quickly.

Jesse chuckled softly and nodded. Hanzo cocked his head and nodded and replied, “It is best to go slow.” He shrugged. “I will not pressure you for more than you want to give.”

“Darlin’, we can go as slow as ya want.” He grinned wildly. “But I kinda wanna get my shirt back ‘fore I get jealous that it’s touchin’ ya an’ I’m not.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Unapologetic smut that is NSFW

That broke the ice and you all laughed. You were still shy, gently stroking and kissing each other. Jesse and Hanzo had you again between them. Hanzo adored your back and shoulders with light touches and gentle kisses and nuzzles of his rough beard. Jesse kissed your cheeks and lips, gently stroking your neck and face and down your arms.

Hanzo pressed the slowest and softest of kisses on your shoulder before his tongue touched your ear. You grinned, relieved on some level that this hadn’t turned into some kind of weird fetish-fest, and turned to kiss him back. His eyes simmered with glittering lights as he gently stroked your face and kissed your lips again. Your eyes flickered closed and you felt his hands gently scrape up your arms to your neck. For a moment, you stiffened up—you felt the archer flinch at that—but then the tension flowed out.

He was gifted with his hands. His hands gently cradled your face and then slid down your neck to your shoulders. Hanzo gently rolled your shoulders—which was more relaxing than you ever gave it credit for. His lips smiled against your skin when you moaned in pleasure as your bra seemed to fall off into his grasp and was whisked away. Under his gentle hands, you were laid down and he literally massaged down and up both legs, drawing your sopping panties with them.

Your eyes popped open as Jesse leaned over you to kiss your lips. He was grinning like a cat with cream and nodded his head towards the other man. Your hooded gaze drifted and you saw Hanzo sniffing the panties he held crumpled in one hand and sliding the other into his hakama to grip his cock.

“He likes ya,” Jesse whispered, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. You nodded, watching him with flames in your own eyes as the cowboy’s face drifted to your shoulder. He placed gentle kissed from your shoulder to your breast, lapping at the tightened tips. With a wink, Jesse said, “I like ya, too.”

You kissed Jesse’s nose. “I’m glad.” You puffed out a breath. “I-I-I just want...want to be good enough for you.”

“Darlin’,” he smiled. “You already are.”

Your uncertain gaze went to Hanzo. The archer’s eyes were glittering dark and hooded as he smiled smoothly. Not breaking away from your gaze, he untied the laces to his hakama and pushed them down to his knees. Your eyes widened as his large hand wrapped around his ruddy cock.

His smile widened wickedly. “Do you see how beautiful I think that you are?” His hand gently tugged on his dick. “Never doubt that you are beautifully made.”

Jesse lapped your neck like a Labrador. His cool metal hand gently palmed your breast, making the nipple tighten and ache. His tongue touched your earlobe and with a dip of his hips he pressed his denim covered hips against your belly. There was an impressively thick outline straining against his zipper. “Do ya see what yer doin’ ta us?”

You turned back towards him and reached up to wrap around his neck. His chest was tanned and covered with rough brown hair. Kissing him gently, you looked up at his bristly smile. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he smiled smugly. “Wanna see?”

You were shocked in the best of ways and nodded slowly. The cowboy backed up and with slow movements, unbuttoned and unzipped the denim. Reaching down, he pulled out his manhood—all thick and dark tanned hardness.

He slid down his pants all the way, kicking them off. “Ya wanna touch it?” You looked back at the archer, as he stroked down and up. Biting your lip, you reached for the cowboy, wrapping your fingers around the shaft. Shaking slightly, he nodded and pushed against your hand. “That’s good, darlin’, real good.” He chuckled slightly and cocked his head towards the other man. “She’s all soft and delicate like ya, Han.”

Hanzo snorted in reply. “I am not delicate.”

Jesse reddened, sucking in a breath as your grip tightened. “Ah, hell, I know yer as hard as nails, but yer touch is...ahh. Darlin’—.” He smiled at you again. “Yer just as hot as Han.”

You twisted as Jesse came back over you and began nuzzling your neck before dropping kisses all over. His cock twitched as you stroked his chest with one hand and kept stroking his shaft with the other. You heard his soft drawl—a sibilant hiss in your ear—as you tugged him a little harder. “Is this right, Jesse?” you asked him.

He nodded wildly, his face buried in your skin. “Yer doin’ jus’ fine.” He pulled back long enough to wink at you before kissing your nose and collarbone. “Jus’ do what ya feel like—‘cause yer instincts is jus’ fine.”

Hanzo let out a soft hiss of his own and you both turned to see him leaning back on the floor. His hips bucked into his fist, the ruddy head peaking out over his thumb enticingly. His head lolled back as he propped up on one elbow and his hair spilled like thick dark syrup on the floor.

Jesse smirked down at you and pulled away again to settle lower between your legs. With a devilish smile, he bent down and kissed your belly button. Sweetly and delicately, he went down a little further to kiss you again and then again. He paused to look up at you, his tongue trailing along the top of your thighs. “Yer sure, darlin’?”

“Please,” Hanzo breathed out in a pleading tone. You glanced at him and saw him watching you avidly—his pupils blown wide and glittering darkly, his sharp cheekbones flushed and his lips thin with his passion. “Please...be sure.”

Your mouth went dry and you looked back down at Jesse. Dear, sweet Jesse whose gaze was as hot and dark as the archer’s, with a note of pleading as his tongue lapped at your mound. “Y-y-yes.”

Both men smiled widely and the cowboy nodded before spreading you gently with his fingers. The cool metal and the warm fingertips gave you a jolt that sent a tingle through your core. Moving slowly, he lapped first at the tight clit, making you gasp and twist. Then his tongue went lower, dipping into your waiting moisture. “Yer so wet, darlin’,” he whispered before his tongue lapped at you again. “Like yer enjoying yerself.”

You nodded slightly and shook. One of your hands patted his shaggy brown hair and, shaking, you brought the other up. Your nipples were cool and tight and you were distantly shocked at how good it was to gently rub them.

Hanzo rolled slightly, smirking at you as he scooted closer to your free hand. Slowly his free hand stroked your arm, your wrist and then up to your hand. “I want to enjoy myself too.” You nodded shakily at him and he brought your hand to his mouth. Deftly, he kissed each of your knuckles before sucking one of your fingers into his mouth. “You taste...delicious,” he murmured as his tongue lapped your fingertips.

You shook as both men continued their onslaught, intent on drowning you in your pleasure. Jesse’s metallic pulled away to stroke your clit which made you gasp with the cool touch. He looked up at you with a grin and you saw him nuzzle a button on his artificial wrist. With a click and a soft buzzing, his thumb began vibrating against you.

Hanzo groaned, his hand tightening around his cock and pulling harder. “That is it. That is his magic touch.” He smiled slyly. “Make her feel good, cow man.”

Jesse only nodded, sliding his vibrating thumb up and down. You saw stars instantly as the breath was sucked out of you. You whined as something wrenched tighter and tighter in a dizzy whirl. Suddenly it was like all of the stars burst over you. You cried out, your limbs jerking wildly as you failed to contain all of the fireworks flowing through your veins. Jesse’s fingers kept working your core with hot, slick sounds as you began gasping for air.

Slowly, you came back down to earth, feeling the gentle touches and caresses as both men laid down on each side of you. Warmth flowed into your bones, into every ache of your heart as they petted you with soft praises. Jesse rubbed your shoulders and Hanzo kept pressing kisses to your fingers and petting your hair.

“Are you...all right?” The archer’s face was worried as he looked at you. “It was not too fast?”

You shook your head slightly, your eyes slowly opening. For some reason, your gaze was drawn to his bobbing cock. “But...it...I.” You didn’t know what to say for a moment. “I.... It was wonderful.”

Hanzo smiled gently at you. “I am glad.” He kissed your forehead again. “I do not want anything to scare you ever again.”

“But what about you...?” Your eyes were wide and full of stars as you looked at him. “You are....”

“Extremely patient,” the archer grinned. “We will take this as slowly as you could wish.”

You nodded slowly, thinking about it. Gently, you reached for the bobbing flesh and felt highly rewarded when he gasped in pleasure. A small bead of whitish fluid dribbled out of the tip. “What about this?”

“Th-th-that—,” Hanzo stuttered as his eyes rolled shut and he jerked again.

Jesse laughed behind you. “He likes that.” Another soft laugh rumbled at your back. “An’ he also likes it when ya stroke his nipples.”

That felt wicked as you rose to push the archer on his back. He rolled willingly as you kept stroking him and a trace more pre-cum leaked out. Experimentally, you kissed his nipple and again he gasped. You licked it again, kissing it over and over as your hand kept stroking him. The archer moaned with a low and throaty sound, his chest and legs twitching much like you had.

Whispering, you said, “Could I...could I kiss it?”

He nodded jerkily, his head thrown back against the floor. His throat bobbed as he tried to swallow, to moisten his throat. Moving equally slowly, you dropped a soft kiss at the tip. The moisture collected on your lips and you licked them to taste the saline tang. He thrust up against your timid hands.

“He likes that, lil’ girl,” Jesse smiled. You glanced towards the cowboy and saw him fisting his cock with a grin on his face. “‘N’ I like watchin’.”

You nodded, turning back to the insistent thrust of the archer’s hips. You kissed it again, letting your free hand drift over his dark nipples. His chest was satiny smooth compared to Jesse’s furry pelt and the way that he whined softly whenever you stroked his dark nipples made you feel...aroused. Powerful. Beautiful....

Opening your mouth, you took the head in your mouth. Hanzo’s wordless cry echoed in the apartment and his hands fisted. Shivering and shaking, he pressed his hips to the floor as your lips worked his cock. Your nervous hands slid down to stroke the soft skin of his balls and the archer hissed in pleasure.

You spread your hands and found a foil packet on the carpet. At some point, someone had kicked or jerked and the EXXXtra Fun Assortment was scattered across your floor. You paused to look at it—“GirlPleaser Sensitive Lube”.

The archer grunted, growling as you turned to examine the little packet. “You are...neglecting me,” he panted with a heady smirk. You poked at the pink and gold foil packet and then looked down at the bouncing cock in front of you. Hanzo smiled and looked at you with a toss of his sweaty hair. “Are you curious?”

You nodded dumbly and handed him the packet. He sat up and opened up the foil to reveal the rolled up condom. With a practiced move, he slid it on. His cock was now a pleasant pink and you timidly poked the loose tip and stroked down to the little lump at the base.

“It will feel good,” Hanzo promised. Gently, he laid you down and settled between your legs. With a wink, he added, “This is my favorite variety.” Jesse groaned at your side and you nodded. “I will go slowly.”

And he did. He slowly slid into you, the lubed up condom slick and frictionless. Suddenly, you were startled at the pleasure the fullness brought you. Hanzo laid over you, kissing you over and over again as his hips worked forward and back. It was like having Jesse’s impatient tongue inside you again, but so much deeper and so much hotter.

The little rubber nub hit your hard clit and you bucked. Your body was suddenly craving the friction. Hanzo stayed slow and patient, his face hard and disciplined as he waited for your permission. Your hands gripped his shoulders and you whined.

“Oh darlin’,” Jesse sighed. “Yer so good.” The cowboy leaned back further, showing you how his cock was now glistening in his hands too. “Yer gonna make me cum without touchin’ me a’tall.”

Hanzo nodded as he watched both of you. “Tell me what you like,” he whispered into your ear.

“F-f-faster,” you moaned.

He did, gradually going faster. You felt him shaking with his pleasure and that lit lightning in your veins. He was trying so hard to go slow and make you feel good. “Faster,” you whispered, stroking his nipples again. “It feels so good.”

He cocked his head back again, swallowing dryly. “You feel so good.”

“Make her feel amazin’, darlin’,” Jesse crooned.

Instantly, Hanzo’s hands came to your breasts to knead them. His lips trailed all over you and you clung to him desperately. Your climax rocked through you and you felt him grind against you. “Your climax is the best of pleasure,” he whispered reverently. “I have never felt so....”

“Hey,” Jesse panted halfheartedly.

Hanzo tossed his dark hair at the cowboy before looking at you. “You are so sweet,” he whispered as his cock throbbed inside you.

You whined softly, thrusting up again. “I want...I want to feel you cum.”

Both men moaned softly and he began thrusting again slowly. Building up his speed, the archer stroked your sides—a move that surprised you at how good it felt. Jesse lounged back, his face split into a wide, toothy smile. Unexpectedly, Hanzo shot out a hand to stroke the cowboy’s cock, which forced Jesse to gasp.

There was no pause, no break from the overwhelming pleasure. You were all-too-quickly shaking beneath the archer. Hanzo held the cowboy in his thrall as well, his free hand pumping. You reached out as well to stroke the cock that bobbed in front of you. Jesse cursed softly as his hips bucked against the two of you.

“Y’all just might kill me,” the cowboy moaned as another spurt of liquid leaked out over your palm.

“The way to go,” Hanzo muttered, dropping kisses to your neck.

You only nodded as your hands fumbled between the slick skin of the archer above you and the rough cowboy to the side. Ever so softly, Hanzo kissed your cheek and bent to nibble your earlobe. It made you buck up and your hand fist around Jesse’s cock as pleasure kept nibbling around you. Hanzo growled—his chest vibrating—as he swallowed heavily and kept thrusting evenly as your fumbling hand pulled on his shoulder. You pulled yourself up to kiss him, opening your mouth to run your tongue along his lips.

That made him pause, his twitching cock deep inside you as he sighed against your lips. His tongue slid out, stroking yours delicately as he seemed to struggle to find balance between your exploring kisses and Jesse’s insistent cock. He groaned again as he beat back the fire in his blood so that you would feel as much pleasure as possible.

Pulling back a bit, he waited until your eyes opened. Your eyes were dark and blown wide, dazed. “I want you to feel every pleasure,” he whispered. “I want you to be amazed with your pleasure. For you to know pleasure unlike anything you have ever felt.”

You nodded, your eyes smiling as you looked up at his passion tight face. “I already...do feel it. Nothing has ever felt like this.”

He smiled down at you. “And we are just beginning. I want to make this something you will remember happily for the rest of your life.”

You shuddered and then shook again as Jesse moaned behind you. You wrapped your arms around the archer, gripping him in a tight hug. He was so tender, so gentle as he held you. He was slow, so gentle as he laid you back down and began thrusting again. You could weep as he gently stroked you, so careful that you were relaxed and that you were enjoying yourself. You lapped at his skin, kissing him and stroking him and exploring his body as much as you could.

Feeling him shudder was a high unlike anything else. It made you feel powerful, beautiful and sexy as he openly showed you how much he enjoyed whatever you did. He hid nothing from you—gasping openly, shuddering and whispering soft praises against your skin. His passion was scrawled across his face, shining from his hooded eyes, and whispering out his mouth.

You were curling up, gripping his neck and whining against his sweaty skin and one hand tangled in his hair, when Jesse groaned. Looking at the cowboy, you saw him pumping furiously into his hands, the vibrating mechanical fingers gripping his ruddy balls and stroking them gently. His head was thrown back and his brown eyes were locked on the two of you as his hand squeezed hard.

“He like watching us,” Hanzo purred in your ear. You nodded, feeling amazingly hot as the cowboy masturbated furiously. “He likes hearing your pleasure, seeing you happy.”

“Make her happy, Han,” Jesse moaned, closing his eyes in bliss.

Hanzo gave you a playful thrust, pulling your attention back to him. He gave you a pleased smile as you snuggled into his body again. He brushed a featherlight kiss to your lips and whispered in your ear, “I want to hear your passion, koneko.”

You smiled wickedly at him as he laid you back down. Your hands went to his chest, stroking over his nipples. That made the archer buck into you, forcing another desperate sound out of him. It was fierce and hot and your hands stroked over him restlessly as the archer devoted his entire attention to you.

With a wicked smile, he bent to lick your neck in a slow and sensual drag of his tongue. You drug your nails lightly over his nipples and he responded by latching on and suckling your nipple in return. You moaned—which made Jesse moan in the background—as Hanzo’s tongue lapped around the sensitive point. You couldn’t resist twisting and rolling like a sensual cat in his arms.

“My little koneko,” he panted in your ear as his hips slid forward just hard enough to make you gasp. “My sensual little kitten.” His hips slid forward again. “I want to make you purr, koneko.” You nodded and whimpered as your hips rose in response. “I want to make you scream with your pleasure.”

Jesse groaned again and his own thrusting turned suddenly noisy, but you were more than a little distracted by Hanzo as he kept suckling on your nipple and his rough fingers crept down to strum your tight clit. You did purr as his lips trickled down your breast to your neck. Your purrs went hoarse as he nipped at your earlobe.

He went faster, grinning as you gasped again. Unsteadily, you thrust upward, your movements jerky and uncoordinated as you caught up to Hanzo’s pace. He surprised you with little nips that gave your skin the lightest little marks before he lapped at them and smooth them with his soft lips.

“I can’t stand it!” Your voice wailed as your body shook. “I need.... I need....”

“What do you need, koneko?” Hanzo hissed against your skin. “Tell me what you need.”

You cursed lightly, softly. You had never felt like this, the buzzing heat comforting you and enflaming you at the same time—how were you to know what you needed? “I don’t...don’t know!”

Jesse moved suddenly, laying down beside you. It made you jerk, your hips stuttering to match Hanzo’s heady pace. “‘Sokay, darlin’. We got ya.”

Hanzo growled a little, his pace slowing as Jesse’s mechanical hand slipped down. The cool metal was shocking but also soothing as you whimpered. Your mind turned to mush as you felt his metal thumb begin to vibrate just above your aching clit. It was so close, but...but....

Hanzo smiled against your skin, his warm hands massaging your shoulders and your breasts in unsteady turns. Jesse’s hand moved slightly, his fingers and thumb trailing all around the most sensitive point—sometimes even going to pulse against Hanzo’s cock instead. One of your hands gripped the archer and the other wandered to the meaty cock that rubbed against your hip. Both men stiffened and groaned, shuddering and jerking.

You loved the feeling of both men enjoying what you were doing. You had not thought you’d ever have a sexy man eager for your touch and now you were in the heady throes of two men competing for your attention and loving everything you did. At the same time! Writhing, you smiled at both of them as they kept gently competing for your next touch, your next sigh, your next smile.

Jesse’s hand moved down, the vibration finally hitting the exact point that you needed it. Your eyes opened wide in surprise and then clamped shut as your scream caught in your throat. That made your hand grip Jesse even harder, your strokes frantic as Hanzo’s free hand gently massaged Jesse’s furry balls. Hanzo thrust forward and his hard cock rocked against the vibrations.

“Gu-gu-gonna cum,” Jesse growled, his chest heaving and his hips spasming frantically. “Jus’...jus’ a little—fuck!”

Hanzo gently pushed your hand away, settling it on your breast as his own hand went back to Jesse’s ruddy cock. His fingers curled and stroked expertly and Jesse cursed again as white cum shot into the air and over Hanzo’s hand. Without pausing, Hanzo stuck his fingers in his mouth to lap at the cowboy’s thick seed and the archer groaned and bucked at the taste.

Jesse hurriedly fumbled with some tissues and you shakily touched a tiny pearl of moisture on the floor. Hanzo smirked and lapped at your fingers, kissing them and sucking on the tips.

“You’re so delicious,” Hanzo smiled as he gave you longer and harder thrusts. His teeth nipped at your fingertips. Then he set your hand aside and kissed your collarbone. His hips went slightly faster and he groaned. “I want you...to scream for me.”

Your mouth gaped open as he went faster, his tip feeling like it was against your womb. That made you curl around him, your arms clinging desperately to him. “Please...please....”

He gulped in a deep breath and you felt him shudder as he slowed down. His eyes were hazy and desperate as he whispered in your ear again. “Please...please...tell me what you want.” His hips twisted, hitting a new and achingly sensitive spot inside that made your voice raise again. “Please...tell me what... you need.”

You knew he was speaking, that he was speaking to you. You knew he was begging, pleading softly in your ear as his muscles trembled. The only problem was that you had no idea what to do about it. This was like nothing you had ever felt and you were aching with need, but you had no idea what came next. Your wail was high and keening, “I...I don’t know!”

Jesse was there immediately, his rough warm thumb wiping your frustrated tears. He kissed your cheek. “Baby...everything’s jus’ fine. Take a deep breath—.” You panted, nodding at him. He dropped another kiss to your forehead. “Just let it go...think of how good yer makin’ Han feel. How good he’s makin’ ya feel.”

Your legs wrapped timidly around the man as he kept thrusting. The slight change—the roll of your hips—and there was another series of sparks. Hanzo’s head leaned back as he licked his sweaty lips and he let out another soft, desperate sound. Jesse’s hands were gentle as he helped you get your legs wrapped around Hanzo’s waist, earning another pair of desperate sounds from the two of you as your core wrapped even tighter around him.

But it made the thrusting feel amazing. You had no idea that it would feel this good as Hanzo’s pace became frantic. His hands gripped your shoulders tightly as he buried his face in the soft skin of your neck. So desperately, he whimpered, “I want you to feel all of your pleasure.” He kissed you. “I will not rest until you have....”

You felt his gritty voice like it was dragging over your entire body. When he latched on to your breast, suckling on the nipple, you gripped him tighter. Your core throbbed, gripping him in some undefinable and fiery way. “Please...I want you to feel good too—!”

You gasped as the climax burst out around your body. Your legs trembled and squeezed as he kept going. Your scream echoed in the room and you fought to clutch the archer even harder. Fireworks kept bursting in your vision and your whole body kept pumping furiously as the amazing feeling flushed through you and stole your breath out of your lungs. Your screams went silent with a hoarse cry.

Hanzo’s body shook as he heard your cry. He went on, his thrusts jerking as your core grabbed him. Your sweet pulsing went on and on as you rode out your climax. With a guttural sound and a toss of his head, he slammed into you one more desperate time before shuddering and gasping. His body jerked one more time and he dropped his sweaty brow to your neck before simply shaking in your grasp.

There was no telling how long you both held on to each other silently, twitching and panting as the afterglow filled you. His arms wrapped around you, suddenly loosening and becoming more gentle as he kept holding you. You were so heavenly relaxed as you felt him gently hug you close and then felt Jesse begin to stroke your hair soothingly.

Hanzo’s lips brushed your skin ever so gently. “You have honored me.” Another gentle hug and he moved and leaned on his elbows above you. His eyes were wide and glistening as he kissed your cheek on more time. “You have...—I have no words for the honor you have bestowed on me.”

Your eyes were sleepy and relaxed and hooded as you looked up at him. Your mind was sluggish as he spoke and you were not entirely certain what he meant. “Why...? What...—I don’t...understand.”

Hanzo looked wisely at the cowboy and laughed in a low, sexy way. He gripped his cock and pulled out. The pink condom seemed gently filled with milky seed as he accepted some tissues from Jesse and pulled it off. He cleaned you both up and then pulled you up to lounge your body against his chest. Dropping a soft kiss to your head, he replied, “You have honored me with priceless gifts. You have given me—given us—so much.”

You let out a satisfied sound and smiled as Jesse picked up your foot to rub it gently. “Darlin’.... We’re proud and happy that yer willin’ ta trust us. Yer willin’ ta let us hold ya and touch ya. Ya made us proud.”

Hanzo nuzzled you, his hands coming up to rub your shoulders. “You have honored us with your trust and the gift of your body. You have honored us with your openness.” He grinned at Jesse and then kissed you again. “You have honored us with your pleasure.” He cocked his head curiously. “You were pleasured? I was not wrong about that, was I?”

You smiled sleepily and stifled a yawn. “More than I.... I had no idea that it could feel so good.”

Jesse did yawn, sliding under your legs to cuddle closer. You were suddenly warm in all kinds of ways. Hanzo finally yawned himself, making both you and Jesse chuckle. Jesse reached for his serape and threw it vaguely over you.

“I want to go to bed,” you whispered hoarsely. “I’m so....”

Somehow, Jesse and Hanzo managed to get you up into the cowboy’s big arms with the serape wrapped around you. Hanzo pulled down the sheets and fluffed the pillows so that when you were laid down on the bed, you were instantly comfortable.

“Do we have to break up the party, Han?” Jesse whispered with his eyes wide.

Hanzo was about to shoo Jesse out when you made a soft noise and patted the bed again. The cowboy grinned and shimmed in beside you. The archer sighed patiently and gestured before walking out. You heard your doorknobs rattle and the heavy deadbolt snap locked, then the windows locking. Lights flickered off and then the natural light dimmed as curtains were pulled and blinds were lowered. Presently, Hanzo wandered in with a pair of glasses of water and a spare blanket before he climbed in the bed, too. The covers slid over the three of you in a patchwork of warmth.

Hanzo’s arm reached out to turn off the last lamp. He paused suddenly and dropped a hesitant kiss to your shoulder. “Are you sure?”

You heard Jesse’s warm yawn of protest behind you, as you looked sleepily up at him and nodded. It made you feel even more protected, more safe, as the archer made sure one more time that you were well, that you approved of everything he did. “I’m sure....”

He nodded and turned off the light. Whispering gently in your ear, he said, “I’m glad. I look forward to hopefully doing more of the same.”

“Me, too.”

“Me three!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has a happy ending because of good people and awesome support systems. This is the ideal—recovery—but sadly a lot don’t make it this far.
> 
> Please report abuse, incest and rape. No matter who the person is—black, white, child, adult, bi, straight, gay/lesbian, purple, green, Martian—they don’t deserve to be abused. Their clothes are not an excuse for abuse. Their sex is not an excuse for abuse. Their religion is not an excuse. Their money or lack of money is not an excuse. Their occupation or lack of occupation is not an excuse.
> 
> There is no excuse.
> 
> Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network : http://www.rainn.org  
> National Center for Missing and Exploited Children: (toll free) 1-800-843-5678  
> Virtus Online: http://www.virtusonline.org  
> National Center for Domestic Violence: tel:1 800 799 7233
> 
> Note that fictional Randolf Connor used common grooming techniques: giving extra attention, extra physical contact, unusual opportunities and leeway—before committing this crime. Then he threatened the central character with more/worse punishment, said no one would believe them, and threatened the family. These are common and regularly used by abusers to get their victims to be compliant.
> 
> Also note that the Nassar Act is currently fictional. It would be great to get something like this together—a way to regularly ask the vital questions to those who might be abused—but right now it is fictional. If you like this idea, please steal it an make it a reality. Get together with others in the community, others in your state and country, and make it harder and harder for this to happen.

**Author's Note:**

> You can help. Report abuse. Keep talking about it and help all the victims—male, female, bi, straight, black, white, purple, green, ?.
> 
> To report child abuse:  
> Http://www.childwelfare.gov  
> Rape, Abuse, Incest National Network : http://www.rainn.org  
> National Center for Missing and Exploited Children: 1-800-843-5678


End file.
